Sekka Winter 2022: The Creative Giants

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BE INSPIRED

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Storyteller-In-Chief: Manar Alhinai Managing Storyteller: Sharifah Alhinai Contributing Writers: Ali Al Ardhi, Sharifa Al Badi, Rumaitha Al Busaidi, Sura Al Muscati, Ammar Al Nuuaimi, Shumaisa Alnuumani, H.H. Sayyida Mayya Al Said, Aisha Al Saifi, Mohammad Al Wahaibi, Georgie Bradley, Wafaa Khairy, Samia Qaiyum, Priyanka Sacheti, Vittoria Volgare, and Maisa Aljabri.

Art Directors: Maya Al Moukayed Tamara Romcevic Translators: Salma Harland Contributing Illustrators: Shaima Al Alawi Ramchandramani Sirsat Interns: Jumana Adil Kauthar Al Maskari Alanood Al Wahaibi Aya Salah About: Sekka is an independent publication and integrated creative platform that is dedciated to arts, culture and opinions from the Arab world, with a focus on the Arab Gulf States. It has been published since 2017 to share the rich stories of the region and amplify the voices of its people.

Copyright: © 2021 Sekka Ltd. All rights reserved. Neither this publication or any part of it may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of Sekka Ltd. Sekka is published three times a year by Sekka Ltd., a company registered in London, the United Kingdom. For corrections, please e-mail editorial@sekkamag.com.

ISSN 2754-432X (Print) ISSN 2754-4338 (Online) Subscriptions: To find out how to subscribe to Sekka, please visit www.sekkamag.com.

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If we know one thing at Sekka, it’s our region’s creative talents. But a group of talents that continue to amaze us with their creativity and perseverance are the creative talents of Oman. Oman is known for many things, ranging from its rich history to its breath-taking and diverse topography to its delicious foods. It has been less known, however, for its creative scene. But that will not be the case for long, thanks to the tremendous efforts of its rising creatives or, as we like to call them, Oman’s creative giants.

Throughout our last four years working on Sekka, through which we have focused on arts, culture and ideas related to the Gulf and wider Arab region, we have gotten to know the region’s arts and culture scene more intimately than ever. The talents and skills of Oman’s people, especially its burgeoning youth, who form over 50 per cent of its population, have stood out time and again. We have also been pleased to share their work with our global audience. In this issue of Sekka, which marks the first time that Sekka’s issues are available in print since the publication’s inception and our first country-focused issue, we introduce you to some of the Omani and Oman-based movers and shakers in the worlds of art, photography, literature, fashion design and more.

In the pages of this issue, you will meet Omani novelist Bushra Khalfan, whose newly published historical fiction novel Dilshad spotlights a widely forgotten period in Oman’s history and highlights Muscat’s historically cosmopolitan society. It has garnered her wide regional acclaim and has led to a renewed interest in Oman’s long history and diverse culture, one that was originally sparked amongst international readers in particular with the Man Booker International Prize winner Jokha Alharthi’s novel Celestial Bodies, which essentially put Omani literature

on the regional and then international maps. You will also meet pioneering Omani artists Hassan Meer and Alia Al Farsi, who have helped shape the Omani art scene as it stands, and paved the way for the emergence of some of the region’s most promising young artists, such as Widad Al Harthy, Majeda Alhinai, Israa Al Balushi, Abdulaziz Alhosni, Mohammed Alattar and Mahmood Al Zadjali, who are featured on the cover of this issue through an illustration

by Omani digital artist Widad Al Harthy. In the opinions section, you will hear from some of Oman’s thought leaders on topics that are important to them. In the creative section, you will read the works of Oman’s emerging and more established writers and poets, such as Ammar Al-Naaimi and Aisha Al Saifi; the work of the latter has been translated into English by Salma Harland. In between, you will also encounter a variety of other stories, as well as visuals by some of Oman’s most well-known photographers that capture its unique culture.

We are pleased to be able to provide you, dear inquisitive global reader, with authentic insights into the colourful and blossoming world of Omani arts and culture, and we hope that it invites you to further explore the incredible experiences Oman has to offer.

Sekka is now available for international orders through global stockists and distributors. Visit our website to find out how you can subscribe to our issues and place your orders.

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The first fort I visited was Al Rustaq Fort, a pre-Islamic stronghold located in the town of Al Rustaq, in the Batinah Region of Oman.

With my little hands in his, my father guided me through its narrow corridors and told me stories about the early years of his life, which he spent there with my grandparents.

‘Do you know that there is a secret escape passage underneath this fort?’ he asked as we stood atop the watchtower and looked out to the sea of palm trees behind the building. I secretly wished I, too, lived in a fort and thought of how cool it would be to use that secret passage to play different games.

People have always been drawn to historical structures, especially ones that testify to the strength and power of a civilisation. Consider the pyramids in Egypt and the Colosseum in Rome. The pyramids were built as tombs, the final resting place for Egypt’s royalty and their worldly possessions. The latter was built as an amphitheatre for ancient Romans. The structures stand against time and attract millions of visitors every year. Similar to historians and architects, I have always been enchanted by historical structures and would spend hours navigating through their corridors, looking out their windows and imagining how the people who once inhabited them lived.

We have our own share of historical structures in the Arab world that provide us with a window through which we can see how our ancestors lived, survived and thrived. Oman is an Arab nation where modernity is deeply intertwined with its rich history, and it is visible when one decides to go on a road trip.

In almost every city, village or town, you will come across a fort, a watchtower or a historical building.

Though my father lived in a fort, my knowledge about their complex architecture was limited. The more than 500 forts, watchtowers and fortified castles in Oman all looked similar to me. As a young girl, I thought all the forts across the Arab world were the same.

However, as I grew older, working on a business venture ignited my interest to learn more about Oman’s fort architecture and its essential role in protecting the country against invaders. It also highlighted the fact that, even though Oman’s forts may look similar to other forts in the Gulf region, they are actually very different.

You may wonder why Oman has such a large number of forts. Its prime geographic location in the south-eastern quarter of the Arabian Peninsula and its 3,165 kilometre coastline, which borders the Arabian Sea, Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Gulf, meant that, throughout the ages, many invaders wanted control of that vast sea route due to its access to the rest of Asia, beginning with India. The country, therefore, had to defend itself constantly. After the 140 year Portuguese invasion of Oman in the 16th

century, Oman witnessed an increase in the construction of forts and watchtowers across the country.

This occurred during the reign of Imam Nasir Bin Murshid Al Ya’arubi, of the Ya’arubahs State, which was established in 1624 AD. Dr. Naima Benkari, an assistant professor at the Department of Civil and Architectural Engineering at Sultan Qaboos University in Oman, explains how the architecture of Omani forts mainly falls under two categories: ‘The forts that were built before the powder gun/canon era (pre 16th century) and the forts that were built after, towards the end of the 16th century and the beginning of the 17th, which were designed to be more resilient against

canon shots.’ Dr. Benkari explains that the ‘re- engineered’ forts, which sprung up in numbers during the reign of Imam Nasir, were made using sarooj, a traditional mortar mix of clay and limestone with added fibres, dates and water. The mixture is similar in composition to Roman concrete and one that has historically been found in Persian architecture, especially that of bridges.What mainly differentiates the forts from each other in Oman, Dr. Benkari states, is how they were designed to fit their topographic settings, which differs from one region to another in Oman. However, ‘the interior components across the forts are pretty much the same. So, you will have a mosque and guest reception area (called barza) by the entrance of all the forts. Climate was also greatly

considered, and thus, the windows across forts were always strategically located to ensure optimum airflow.’ ‘You’d have long, narrow, rectangular windows in the living quarters, with smaller square openings or windows on top,’ explains Dr. Benkari. ‘The larger windows bring in the cool air and are usually at eye level, and the smaller ones are higher in the wall, from where the hot air escapes.’

watchtower guards could visually connect with each other,’ says Dr. Benkari. ‘Imam Nasir encouraged every settlement or neighbourhood to have a watchtower or a fort that would be connected to the larger defence network,’ adds Dr. Benkari. ‘Doing so meant that there were many lines of defence, which would exhaust the enemy before he reached its target: the fort where the ruler or important state figures lived.’

The real distinguishing factor of Oman’s forts is how each fort was not built as a solo unit but as part of a large defence network, something that was strategically planned under Imam Nasir. ‘The idea back then was to build a defensive network where the forts were part of a web-like structure, and one where

If the enemy managed to reach the target fort, defence mechanisms integrated into the architecture of the forts also awaited him. The doors of the fort were purposely made narrow, fitting only one person at a time, and above the door, holes were made, where boiled oil could be poured on the enemy. Past the

door is the Al Sabah area, a very dark chamber, followed by a bright, naturally lit area, where one’s eyes would need a few seconds to adjust to the sudden burst of light. The design was also purposely used to confuse the enemy so the defence soldiers would have a chance to surprise him.

Without previous knowledge of the forts’ interior plans, it was difficult to navigate them for a first timer. The staircases and pathways were very narrow and barely lit, which was also an effort to confuse invaders. The last form of defence found in forts, such as those of Al Rustaq, Bahla, Nakhal and Nizwa, are the underground escape passages that can stretch for kilometres, providing the fort’s inhabitants with an opportunity to lose their enemies.

One may wonder if the architecture of the forts constructed during the Al Ya’arubah era were influenced by the Portuguese invasion, and Dr. Benkari confirms this: ‘When the Portuguese constructed the Al Jalali and Al Mirani forts in Muscat, they were designed with the help of Italian architects, but built mainly by Omani builders. The acquired knowledge by those Omani builders was adopted, refined and transferred into constructing other forts across Oman.’

Oman’s forts are open to visitors, with Bahla Fort and the settlement in Bahla listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. Modern technology now allows you to see how the defensive architecture of Oman’s forts operated as a large network.

‘If you use Google Earth, you will have an aerial view of how the watchtowers and different forts are closely linked,’ says Dr. Benkari. ‘It’s impressive!’

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'If you use Google Earth, you will have an aerial view of how the watchtowers and different forts are closely linked.'

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Illustration by Shaima Al Alawi.

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Illustration by Shaima Al Alawi.

Chips Oman, a chilli flavoured potato chip snack is famous for its red and blue plastic bags with an image of a kitchen knife slicing through a peeled potato. Introduced more than thirty years ago, the snack quickly became an integral staple amongst Khaleejis (people of the Arab Gulf region), especially those from Oman, with many carrying it along with their belongings when they travel for leisure or pursuing studies.

With the spread of social media, it’s not strange to see Arab users snapping photos of the bag of chips against the backdrop of London’s Hyde Park and other notable global landmarks, sharing their love for it across their accounts and pages, and confessing how they cannot live without it even during their travels.

There is nothing eye-catching about the package’s design. If Chips Oman were introduced now, it may not have that much appeal. One of the twenty-five food products Oman’s Al Jufair Food Industries sells, the company proudly proclaims the chips as the industry’s premiere product.

According to Mohammed Khan, the Sales Manager of Al Jufair Food Industries, Chips Oman is considered one of the best selling and popular products in the industry, and is currently present in over one hundred national and international outlets. However, not even the company was able to imagine the appeal and popularity it enjoys today.

‘The company was very modest and small, and no one thought we would grow so much,’ says Khan, who has worked in the industry for almost 30 years.

The company used to sell its product through a few

vehicles with some produced products only distributed to different areas in Oman. The demand for the product extended beyond Oman’s geographic location and to e-commerce platforms. A simple search on eBay is testimony to its popular demand, with one vendor selling one pack at USD $100, way above its retail price (one pack is typically sold for 50 Omani baisas or around USD $0.15). It has also inspired regional fashion and accessory designers. Emirati fashion designer Fatima Al Mulla used it in a collection of Khaleeji pop culture-influenced statement pins. In 2017, the designer printed images of the crisps on colourful kaftans as part of her ‘Throwback Wayback’ collection. The chips brand also sits centre stage as a pop iconic in the works of emerging digital artists, such as Omani artist Widad Al Harthy.

Outside fashion and art, the simple snack became an essential ingredient in the region’s neighbourhood cafeterias and fine restaurants. It is common to ask for a cheese sandwich with Chips Oman, and to find it infused in sushi dishes offered at some restaurants in the United Arab Emirates, or stuffed in samosas along with cream cheese at Logma Restaurant in Dubai. As strange as that may sound, it’s actually very delicious.

So, what is the story behind Chips Oman’s name and never-changing flavour?

The process of picking the flavour was simple. It was inspired by the flavours Omanis love. ‘The most-liked flavours are the three c’s: chicken, cheese and chilli,’ explains Khan.

The chili-flavoured potato chips resonate with many of those who grew up in the 1980s and 1990s. It’s a part of Khaleeji pop culture and an integral part of many Khaleeji millennials’ memories of growing up.

Back then, Khaleeji millennials did not have the luxury of being exposed to the multitude of local and international potato chip options that are now widely available in most of the region’s supermarkets. The chips brand was a common favoured dish among all.

Choosing the name was an obvious choice for the company. It was the first chips made in Oman and the first snack in the industry. The name resonated deeply with Omanis, who take pride in it for carrying their beloved country’s name – some even consider it an unofficial national dish.

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Over the last decades, the package’s design has barely changed, and the flavour has not been altered at all. It tastes exactly the same, the way it always has. In an ever-changing world, the chips are like crunchy time capsules that allow traveling back in time with every bite. ‘The reason behind the consumer demand for Chips Oman is that we maintained its quality over the years and we never compromised with standards of our products,’ says Khan.

The product remains a classic, just like the Chanel 2.55 handbag, and it doesn’t look like it will go out of style anytime soon, no matter how many new products are introduced to supermarket shelves.

Where can a person find this classic Khaleeji snack?

In almost every supermarket, grocery shop or petrol station in the Arab Gulf region, and on e-commerce platforms such as eBay for those who live elsewhere.

To enjoy it the Khaleeji way, add it as an ingredient to a cheese sandwich, sprinkle it with hot sauce, toast it and voila – bon appétit!

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When Jokha Alharthi co-won the Man Booker International Prize in 2019 for her translated novel, Celestial Bodies, a global interest in Oman and Omani literature was sparked. Although Alharthi was certainly not the first Omani author and not the first to have her literary works translated from Arabic to English, she is a pioneer in her own respect because she put Oman on the international map through her pure mastery over the written word, a feat that no one from the country had achieved before her.

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Celestial Bodies, which tells the story of three Omani sisters, Mayya, Asma and Khawla, who experience love and loss, is more than just a multigenerational tale of a family from the fictional village of Al-Awafi in Oman; it is the story of Oman’s transformation throughout the 20th century from a traditional society into a modern one. Further, the novel highlights the challenges and complexities that arise from these nationwide changes. The story is told intimately through predominantly female voices, and reveals details about Oman’s past that readers outside of Oman largely do not know, including its history of slavery and war. It was these elements, which Alharthi creatively wove together in a sophisticated historical fiction novel, that resulted in an international curiosity to know more about the ‘quiet’ Arab Gulf State, its long history and its rich culture.

In turn, Omani writers and authors are ready to quench inquisitive readers’ thirst through masterful literary works in both Arabic and English that tell and recount various dimensions about Oman’s history, culture and society in their own unique voices and perspectives. These have included the recently translated works by Omani authors such as Younis Al Akhzami, Badria Al Shihhi and Haitham Hussein,

to name a few. However, there is one Omani author among them that has been making a strong mark on the literary scene not only in Oman, but also within the wider Arab world, particularly with her 2021 Arabic novel Dilshad, which award-winning Kuwaiti novelist Saud Alsanousi recently described as ‘a novel that is as magnificent as Oman itself.’

Bushra Khalfan, the woman behind the new popular historical fiction novel Dilshad, is a retired journalist who has been captivated by writing short stories and poems since her youth. ‘I began to write, as a driven twenty five year old, to express myself. I found out, in the process, that the words, which I always loved to read, were the most ideal way for me to express my thoughts,’ she recounts. ‘It was a need – a need to release tales hidden deeply in me that may have suffocated me if I didn’t write them.’

In 2004, Khalfan published her first collection of Arabic short stories, titled Rafrafa. Two more short story collections and two poetry collections soon followed, in addition to two essays. In 2016, Khalfan broke her own norm when she published her first Arabic novel, Al Bagh, which was widely read in Oman and the Arab region. The book, like Alharthi’s, is a historical

fiction novel that tells the story of largely forgotten chapters of Oman’s modern history, including the 1950’s Jebel Al Akhdar War and the 1960’s to 1970’s Dhofar Rebellion, primarily through the perspectives of a brother and a sister, Rashid and Rayya. In the five years since Al Bagh was published, Khalfan worked on her second masterpiece, Dilshad, which Kuwaiti Publishing House Takween published in early 2021.

Dilshad, which is set in Muscat and Muttarah in approximately the early to mid 20th century, a time of economic hardship in Oman’s history, revolves around the lives of three generations of one family as they navigate through the life challenges during a period of literal hunger, disease and desperation.

Khalfan says that ‘many things’ had inspired her to write the nearly 500 page novel, which, as the reader will discover in the book’s final pages, is only the first book of a forthcoming series. These have included, as Khalfan explains, ‘Oman’s history, as well as stories that I had heard here and there from various people about Oman’s social history. I was also inspired by my desire to write about the truth that so many people had shied away from discussing. When I say “truth,” I mean the period of hunger that Oman experienced before the relative abundance that we live in now.’

The Omani author, boldly revisits the past, a fact that

is apparent to all readers of Dilshad and Al Bagh.

‘I think it’s my attempt to understand – to understand the present by uncovering the knotted threads of the past,’ she says.However, Khalfan admits that as much as she enjoys digging through the past to write her works, the process of writing this particular novel was a test of her mental capabilities. ‘The way I went about tackling the theme of the novel was different this time around. I used a technique that was new to me,’ she recalls. The result is a rich novel that masterfully describes hunger in a way that makes the reader want to reach inside the pages of the book and rescue its characters. ‘How was she able to do that?’ many readers have wondered while reading the book. ‘I think what made me able to write effectively about hunger is my empathetic nature,’ she says, as the hunger the characters in Dilshad experienced is more ‘permanent’ than any diet or form of fasting today; the characters feel it ‘to the bone.’

Alongside a heart-wrenching portrait of hunger, the novel also paints an equally potent, but more colourful mosaic of Muscat’s and Muttrah’s cosmopolitan societies. While multiculturalism is new to some parts of the world today, it has long been a defining part of Muscat’s and Muttrah’s histories. The two have

historically been composed of communities that are ethnically and religiously diverse, such as the Banyan (merchants who originally came from India), the Baharna (Shia who originally hail from Bahrain) and the Balochis (people who migrated from Balochistan).

For Khalfan, presenting the historical diversity of the people of Oman’s geographies right from the novel’s title (‘dil’ and ‘shad’ mean ‘heart’ and ‘happiness’ in Persian, respectively) to the readers was essential.

‘I am a daughter of Muscat,’ she states, and ‘one cannot talk about Muscat without talking about its diverse community, and the richness and beauty of that diversity.’ To accurately reflect the societies and port cities of the time, Khalfan complemented the stories that had been orally passed down to her with fieldwork and in-depth library research.

Today, Khalfan is working on the next book in the series, for which there is no set publication date yet.

‘I wake up early [every day], and after I pray, exercise and meditate, I sit and write. Sometimes, inspiration comes easily to me and sometimes I have to chase it,’ she says. She is also enjoying reading works by fellow Omani authors and writers, such as Zahran Al Qassemi, Mahmood Al Rahbi, Amna Al Rabee, Rahma Al Maguzy and Laila Al Baloushi, and watching the lit-

erary scene in Oman continue to blossom. ‘I am very optimistic about it, and I think we can produce so many works,’ she states. She advises emerging writers to, ‘read a lot, write a lot, be ambitious and don’t rush things for the sake of hearing the applause.’

While Arabic-speaking readers can find Khalfan’s latest novel in most bookstores, English-speaking readers will have to wait for a translation to read Dilshad and the remainder of the works by the legendary author in the making.

'Read a lot, write a lot, be ambitious and don’t rush things for the sake of hearing the applause.'

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Forget everything you think you know about Oman’s art scene – the past decade has ushered in a new wave of young photographers who are looking inward and doing things differently than their more traditional predecessors. Abdulaziz Alhosni divided opinions earlier this year when he posted a moody portrait of himself clad in a dishdasha (traditional white robe worn by men in the Arab Gulf region) and submerged in water. Israa Al Balushi recently tapped into the realm of augmented reality to explore the fragility of our reality in a pandemic-stricken world.

Mahmood Al Zadjali put forth his unfiltered views on societal expectations as part of a group exhibition in 2020.

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The work of each creative is rooted in conceptual photography and, collectively, they’re putting Oman on the regional art map – one arresting image at a time. Look closely, and you’ll see the visual imagery frequently features themes that stem from the same concepts: identity, culture and customs. But is this about young Omanis returning to their roots or facing the effects of globalisation head-on? One word: nationalism. ‘It’s a value instilled in us early in life. We even have a curriculum dedicated to it, which helps build an appreciation towards our culture,’ says 27 year old Al Zadjali.

The self-professed liberal has been known to incorporate Oman’s traditional attire into his work, but has occasionally been criticised for his own clothing choices. ‘I regularly wear what people consider Western, and there have been times people turned that against me, saying, “You don’t have enough adaat wa taqaaleed [customs and practices] in your blood.”

On the positive side are artists who take pride in our culture while spinning it in a way that works for us.

We’re so used to seeing the dishdasha every day, but if I throw a jacket on top and photograph it against a pink background, I’ve created something that piques people’s curiosity.’

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Al Zadjali is also of the opinion that a little realism is in order. ‘We have this rich culture that we celebrate, but young Omani artists celebrate it in their own way because we can’t keep lying to ourselves, pretending that the West doesn’t exist. It does, and we love so many aspects of it. Abdulaziz, for example, loves Kanye West. That’s why he puts Yeezys in his artwork.’ The visual he’s referring to is Colourful Masculinity, which depicts the 21 year old accenting a dishdasha, headscarf, and ceremonial khanjar (or dagger) with Yeezy sneakers. ‘Why not?’ asks Alhosni, a self-taught photographer and graphic design student.

Based in Nizwa, the artist describes his sense of belonging as complicated, questioning why he can’t step foot on campus unless he’s in traditional attire.

‘Wearing Yeezys with my dishdasha makes me feel like I can live life normally. As young artists, our message is that we are not the stereotype that people abroad believe – they think we ride camels and aren’t aware of what’s happening in the world. We want to say that we’re here and we can do so much. We need to share our culture in a modern way, so they can see our reality,’ he asserts. While his recent work boldly

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revolves around toxic masculinity and an inability to express emotions, an element of struggle persists.

‘Our traditions can limit our artistic freedom, but we’re making small changes so that the next generation can show more of themselves without inhibition.’

Al Zadjali recently produced a photography series entitled K-h-a-l-e-e-j-i- Balushi. Before he commenced work on the project, he recounts, ‘I kept asking myself, “Why do I consider myself Omani, not Khaleeji?” I think a lot of it stems from my mother’s side. I’m actually from the Zadjali tribe, a branch of the Balushi family, and it always felt like my Balushi-ness created this umbrella – not to isolate me from the outside world or anything. But we have our own culture, lingo, food and folklore. I didn’t need another identity because I’m Balushi at heart, you know?’

Al Zadjali took the opportunity to celebrate his subculture through a portrait series of young women wearing vibrant Balushi outfits handmade by his mother, but again, with an unexpectedly modern twist. For the uninitiated, the Balushi tribe traces its origins to Balochistan, a region in both Iran and Pakistan, adding yet another facet to the Omani identity. Similarly, Al Balushi, who has a Balushi background, shares insights revealing that the term

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‘Omani‘ doesn’t have a cut-and-dried definition. ‘My father and grandparents lived in Bahrain before moving back to Oman when the renaissance happened.

Growing up, the cultural differences were very prominent, especially when I started school,’ she says.

The visual artist explains how those formative years have influenced her present-day work. ‘My accent was different and I never thought twice about it, but it was repeatedly pointed out. There were also certain phrases that I didn’t understand because we didn’t use them at home. That’s why my work isn’t about challenging the different subcultures that have come together to form Omani culture, but understanding them.’ While Al Balushi does identify as Omani, she has concluded that identity is subjective and dependent on which of Oman’s eleven governorates one calls home.

You quickly get the sense that young Omanis are more in touch with their traditions than some of their counterparts across the Gulf region – but aren’t afraid to view them through a critical lens, either.

‘We’re a community-based society and, considering [many] Arabs from the Gulf were once Bedouins, belonging to something is extremely important. We all huddle back to our tribes whenever we’re happy or

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sad,’ explains Al Zadjali. ‘The flip side is that tribalism can be dangerous if used in the wrong context. And often, it’s the younger generation that has to pay the price of social pressures.’ His scrutiny is reflected in his At What Cost series, which represents Omani youth struggling with the financial costs that come with lavish weddings.

Oman’s burgeoning creative scene is not only dominated by photography, but has also given rise to some of the region’s best photographers – Chndy, Haitham Al Farsi and Khalid Al-Busaidi included.

‘What I’ve noticed lately is our level of diversity,’ remarks Al Zadjali. ‘Pre - 2010, art was defined as somebody holding a paintbrush. A bubble has burst since then, resulting in private galleries that are introducing people to contemporary art.’ While spaces such as Stal Gallery have paved the way for Oman’s most seasoned artists, contemporary art is still in its infancy and younger creatives declare that there is work to be done.

‘For the longest time, art was just drawing or painting a landscape, so it’s fascinating to observe how far we’ve come. But we are still growing,’ says Al Balushi. Currently working as a creative designer at a telecommunication company, she insists that be-

tween Oman’s small population (below six million) and just how small the art community is, Oman’s art scene shouldn’t be compared to others in the region, despite how much it has evolved. ‘There’s an understanding that we need to break that barrier between what’s familiar and unfamiliar, but it will take time because of the number of people and the level of encouragement they receive. We have the talent, though.’

A graduate of urban planning and architectural design, Al Balushi decided to pursue photography as a serious hobby after meeting like-minded people in college. ‘That’s when I realised its true potential and became active on the local scene.’ She says that when it comes to galleries or museums, finding a space is not the issue – consistency is. ‘People are engaged at [the] college level, but after graduation, you need some kind of support system.’ In a world where female artists remain a minority, we’d be remiss not to acknowledge that Al Balushi is one of Oman’s few female photographers. ‘A guy once texted me saying that he appreciated the fact that I’m a female artist who’s still active because he has known his fair share of female talents who disappeared over time. It’s definitely a responsibility.’

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But that doesn’t mean she’s out to create content that feels relatable to other women – or other Omanis for that matter. In fact, Al Balushi is motivated to create artworks that make sense to viewers while leaving enough space for their interpretations. In contrast, Alhosni is all about addressing social issues faced by Oman’s youth, serving as their ambassador through his work. Habayib Club, for example, is an imagined space for people afraid to express their feelings and features the artist sporting a kummah ( head covering worn by men in Oman) embroidered with hearts. Comparing those who consume art online versus in physical spaces, he says the former tend to be more judgemental, sometimes making him a target for internet trolls.

‘The people who are offended by my art don’t visit galleries or exhibitions – they simply aren’t interested. But people are a lot more active on social media because of the pandemic. It’s generally older people who are more resistant to change, technology, colours even. They don’t like it when they feel someone is trying to change their culture.’ But a bit of backlash isn’t about to deter him. Alhosni is part of a young generation of Omanis who use their mobile phones as a contemporary art medium and their Instagram accounts as personal galleries, patiently showcasing their works until a shift occurs.

As for what’s most fascinating about Alhosni as a conceptual photographer, he doesn’t even own a camera, borrowing one when an idea strikes. ‘People think photography is expensive, but it doesn’t have to be. I spend most of my time working in this sketch-

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book,’ he says, pointing to a pocket-sized notebook that houses his boundless creativity. ‘It’s always with me in case I think of something that will turn into my next project. The ability to think and feel is what makes a good photographer – not gadgets.’ Considering that half of Oman’s population is under the age of thirty-five, it comes as no surprise that Alhosni is vocal about the untapped potential of his peers.

Al Zadjali, meanwhile, brings up a valid point about Oman’s geography, which poses a unique challenge when it comes to discovering and developing young talent. ‘What people don’t realise is that this young population is spread across a big piece of land. The art scene is anchored in Muscat, so a lot of cities where this youth resides are neglected. Moreover, they’re raised in a conservative society that tells them a career in the arts doesn’t pay.’ His viewpoint is an important reminder of the role played by cultural institutions in educating the public and engaging children at an early age.

The visual artist and filmmaker recalls falling in love with the medium of photography as a child, back when his father entrusted him with the camera on family trips. And the rest, as they say, is history. Today, Al Zadjali is head of video productions at a visual communication agency, but says that conceptual photography is incomparable, succinctly describing its appeal. ‘It gets people thinking. The ability to add an X factor to something mediocre or taboo in order to make it more interesting feels like a superpower.’

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Omani designers have come a long way since the first fashion shows in the Sultanate during the early 1990s. Back then, the aim of the catwalks was not only to highlight local cultural heritage but also to take Omani fashion to a global audience. For some designers, such as Nawal Al Hooti, the dream was to elevate the Omani traditional dress – a colourful, loose robe below the knee, trousers and one or more headpieces – to the same international level of the Moroccan kaftan or the Japanese kimono.

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Although Muscat is not currently a fashion hub as Dubai or Beirut are, the country’s fashion scene is buzzing with creativity. Omani designers have garnered tremendous attention over the past years, leaving a mark on the world’s fashion scene and dressing various Arab and international celebrities. They honour and pay tribute to their roots by fusing tradition and modernity and by using intricate designs and dashing colours as a reference to the Omani traditional dress.

Omani fashion designers Amal Al Raisi and Nawal Al Hooti are two of the country’s finest designers, and their creativity showcases strength and pride in the Omani culture.

Al Raisi’s journey into fashion began when, shopping for her wedding dress, she could not find her dream wedding gown, so she decided to design her own.

This led to the foundation, in 2007, of the Haute Couture fashion house Dar Al Aseel in Muscat. Today, the flagship store not only houses her collections but also has grown into a multi-designer boutique that supports regional talents.

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Born and raised in Oman, Al Raisi loves to work with luxurious and flowy fabrics, such as silk or lace, which enhance the elegance of each creation. Colour palettes vary from season to season. ‘Through my designs, I want to showcase the talent and craftsmanship of Oman to the rest of the world,’ she adds.

Inspired by traditional cuts, her pieces are infused with modern elements. Each design sports an Omani element (culture, heritage or nature) through embellished details or printed fabrics. The all-over print featured in her Spring/Summer ‘21 collection, for example, pays homage to the late Sultan Qaboos bin Said, who served as Oman’s leader from 1970 until his passing in January 2020. The village of Wakan, which is nestled in the Western Hajr Mountains, inspired her latest Autumn/Winter 2021 collection.

Home to terraced gardens and apricot flowers, this collection translates the serenity of the village into flowing, feminine silhouettes.

The self-taught designer produces two collections annually. The capsule collection features sophisticated kaftans and abayas (long loose robes worn by many Arab and Muslim women), and the ready-towear collection consists of contemporary dresses and jumpsuits.

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Today, almost fifteen years since starting her fashion house, Al Raisi’s designs have surpassed the borders of Oman and are now available at different retailers around the world. She has participated in prestigious fashion shows in Dubai, Italy, France and the United Kingdom, and in February 2021, she launched Aroos, a bridal line that offers wedding dresses at affordable prices. The gowns can even be rented or customised.

‘I have been very fortunate to have an amazing clientele, all beautiful and influential women from around the world who appreciate our designs, and seeing them style them is one of the best feelings,’ she says.

In 2021, A’sayeeda Al Jalila Ahd Al Busaidi, the first lady of Oman, wore a bespoke white and pink creation by Al Raisi to pose for her first official portrait.

Though Oman is not yet a fashion hub, Al Raisi is proud of how the industry has grown over the years: ‘The country has consistently supported and encouraged its people to follow their dreams.’ Nevertheless, even more could be done. The designer thinks Oman needs more collaborations with international fashion institutes to conduct seminars and workshops in different sectors of fashion: ‘I would love to see more regional designers showcased at fashion weeks around the world, as there is abundant talent here with a lot to offer.’

Al Hooti was a teenager when, mesmerised by seeing her mother and friends making beautiful pieces of clothing for themselves and their kids, she understood that she wanted to be in fashion. Bravely, in 1998, she established her own label. At the time, Al Hooti recalls, ‘Creating your own fashion brand in Oman was nothing more than a terrifying and exciting feeling.’ She adds, in the late 1990s, ‘Omani fashion was at its raw point, and I saw that as an advantage to start a business, wherein I would have the opportunity to showcase Omani clothing and its rich cultural heritage not only in the Middle East but throughout the world.’

‘A beautiful art has no monopoly and I see beauty and inspiration all around,’ the autodidactic designer says. Nevertheless, like many of her Omani colleagues, Al Hooti draws inspiration from her roots and from traditional crafts. She loves to work with bright and exuberant colours, hand-made embroidery and comfortable fabrics, such as silk, velvet and linen, to create flowy silhouettes. ‘I am a detail-oriented person, especially when it comes to selecting the best and finest materials that could surpass the satisfaction and expectation of our customers,’ she explains.

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Coming to terms with the current situation, Al Hooti thinks the solution is to push and invest more into the online luxury marketing strategy. In the meantime, she keeps producing stunning pieces with a ‘soul,’ as she puts it.

One of her latest creations features a stunning and elegant black abaya with reversible red velvet cuffs embellished by jewellery-inspired details. Along with the more luxurious pieces, Al Hooti proposes readyto-wear attire, such as hand embroidered jeans and jewellery inspired by Omani heritage.

With all the new trends arising in the global market, Al Hooti strives to stay original, which is not an easy task when simultaneously trying to preserve the Omani heritage.

‘Luxury brand management requires continuous attention and a reminder of the importance to keep the quality, while being aware of the local and global competition. We also see more and more the importance of social media in our life and our business.

This is why we embarked on expanding our presence in the digital world and got the right help in marketing and brand management,’ Al Hooti reveals.

Another factor that has impacted the label has been the COVID-19 pandemic. ‘People are living differently, buying and, in many ways thinking differently,’ Al Hooti adds. ‘Even our supply chains have been tested and a lot of retailers have closed up shop.

Consumers throughout the globe are looking at products and brands through a new lens and the ‘buy local’ trend is accelerating. Consumer priorities have become centred on the most basic needs like hygiene, cleaning and staple products, while non-essential categories like our industry slumped. Clothing stores were affected by restrictions and bans to stop spreading the virus, which led to a reduction in demand for this kind of product. With the current challenges, I am more than thankful that we are still receiving orders from our valued clients, though not as much as we did before.’

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Al Hooti thinks that a traditional society such as Oman’s can offer the rest of the world specific additional pieces in this beautiful, evolving and growing business. I specifically speak about our magnificent scarfs and colourful distinguished trousers. I am sure the “quilt” can accommodate more pieces, and it will be more beautiful with these additions. Participation in world events and following what is going around us in the field of fashion will definitely help us as fashion designers to contribute to the world stage.’

When asked what advice she would give to aspiring fellow designers, she says, ‘Going into any business needs to be carefully thought out and planned well in advance. One needs to be ready for what the environment will bring.’ Al Hooti was never discouraged by obstacles and never compromised on the quality of the product. She thinks a signature style should never be downgraded because of challenges along the way. ‘Do not be shy to ask the people who went into business before you. Learn from the success and from those who tried and did not continue. Most importantly, give your passion a chance to succeed and do not wait too long to venture out, but do it with a road map, even a simple one, and make sure your financial resources are well thought out in advance.’

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Stemming from a long history of migration, Oman today has a multi-ethnic community, with families of Zanzibari backgrounds, Balushi backgrounds, Indian backgrounds and more. After the defeat of the Portuguese in Omani lands and parts of eastern Africa, including Zanzibar, in the late 17th century, Oman exercised complete sovereignty over both. Zanzibar, a semi-independent archipelago located in modern day Tanzania, was already known for its trade and ivory and, after Oman’s rule, became an increasingly important location to the country’s economy.

Many Arabs from Oman began migrating to Zanzibar, especially after Sultan Said bin Sultan Al-Busaidi moved his court from Muscat to the Stone Town in Zanzibar during the 19th century. This migration continued until the 1960s. Because of the historical and current relationship between Zanzibar and Oman today, intermarriage and the sharing of cultures occurred, which led many Omanis to embrace some Zanzibari foods and clothes, such as kanga. Kanga is a colourful piece of fabric that is worn as a scarf, dress and more by the people in the African Great Lake.

holds the art and colour is called mija; and finally, there is the jina, which distinguishes the kanga from any other clothing item because it contains Swahili sayings. Locals say the sayings give kangas their identities.

There are many versions of where the kanga originated. A famous one is that it originated in East Africa during the 19th century, after a group of creative women bought printed kerchiefs in lengths of six.

The women were said to have sewn them together into what they called leso. Due to the resemblance of the early leso designs to the guinea-fowl birds, which are called kanga in Swahili, buyers began naming the cloth kanga.

Because of Oman and Zanzibar’s long relationship, Oman has been influenced by their culture and has adopted the kanga lifestyle. Almost every household has traditional in Oman today has kangas with sayings and beautiful colours and designs. They are imported from Zanzibar or bought locally from Souq Al Khoud, a market located in Al Khoud, Muscat, where fabric, clothes and cheap merchandise are sold. Additionally, kangas can sometimes be found in Al Zureeq, Ghubra, Muscat, a clothing store by the street.

However, the best kangas are often sold by home businesses and are gifted between families during Eid and Ramadan.

Kangas are often rectangular in shape and colourful, depicting Africa’s lifestyle and matching the seasons of the year. They traditionally have an outer border, that is usually black, called pindo; the centre, which

Men and women can wear these amazing pieces of clothing. They can be used as scarfs; can be wrapped around as skirts or dresses; used as carpets, kitchen cloths or towels; and can be used to carry babies over one’s back. Today, the style of kangas is evolving to become t-shirts, too.

As a person who comes from a Zanzibari background, kangas have played an important role in my life.

My grandmother often gifted kangas straight from Zanzibar, and I would watch my mom share kangas with neighbours, family and friends after the kangas were kept under bukhoor (incense) overnight. During casual parties, we would tie the kanga as dresses and turbans, always leaving the Swahili sayings visible. Of course, when any member of the family travelled for studies, they would receive an influx of kangas. They always come in handy even halfway across the world, as I use it as a kitchen cloth or scarf to throw over my head for a quick grocery store run down the block.

Our parents have made many attempts to keep the adopted culture alive, and Junoon Kanga, an Omani-owned brand, does too. Located in Al Mouj, Muscat Junoon Kanga is a brand that takes the traditional kangas and creates chic, modern looks. The owner, Aisha Al Kharusi, was inspired by her native culture in Zanzibar, especially by the multi-use of kangas, and she decided to start a business in 2018. ‘I knew I wanted to do something to retain the cultural aspect, as my generation will probably be the last generation to be able to speak, and more so, embrace our Zanzibari part of the heritage,’ Al Kharusi says.

Junoon Kanga designs dresses, skirts and trousers, all from the marvellous colours and authentic fabric of Zanzibar. Al Kharusi found ways to keep kangas current and aligned with modern-day fashion, hence

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the twist and creativity with her designs. The brand dreams of keeping the heritage and culture alive through innovative ways. ‘Aside from design and entrepreneurship, my passion is to keep this history alive in the hearts and minds of the youth, as well as our diverse customers. Unless you remind people of the language and the traditions, they will be long forgotten,’ she says.

The history of Oman is wonderful. We can enjoy it through food, clothes and books. Many wear kangas and the creative dresses or shirts made from them, but how did kangas come to be and what symbol do they represent in Oman?

Kangas in Oman are a sign of the historical relationship, integration and trade with Zanzibar. They keep our heritage and multi-ethnic culture alive. As Al Kharusi says, ‘the kanga represents both the Arab and African heritage, its oral culture and the age-old tradition of sending messages and communications through the fabric is like modern-day social media; and it is a living truth of the Omani culture linked to East Africa and Zanzibar.’ One thing many visitors of Zanzibar and Oman mention is that there always seems to be a group of women walking in the villages or the neighbourhoods wearing the very same thing: kangas.

'Unless you remind people of the language and the traditions, they will be long forgotten.'

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In Swim Good, a man in a light blue suit is depicted floating in a swimming pool with pineapples surrounding him. The photograph symbolises the escape that many of those working under the stress of the corporate world dream of; an escape to a world that is ‘perfect, where you swim in an ocean, and where the sun always shines,’ the photograph’s accompanying description provides. The photograph is the work of Mujahid Al Malki (who is better known simply as ‘Muji’), a 27 year old multidisciplinary artist from Oman whose reflective photographs and digital artworks highlight the issues that the everyday man and woman face – from maintaining a positive mind set in a world of negativity, to love and living with nostalgic feelings.

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In particular, his photography, which is often set in dreamy settings, and has been exhibited in Oman’s Stal Gallery and the Khaleeji Art Museum, has captivated viewers in Oman and beyond. His work Utopia, was exhibited in Stal Gallery in 2021.

In the following interview, the artist recounts the beginnings of his photography journey, unpacks why he chooses to describe himself as a ‘visual poet,’ discusses the messages his work sends out and reveals how Oman inspires his art. This interview was edited for length and clarity after it was translated from Arabic.

oping my skills as as artist. I learned a lot from my photographer friends too, who helped introduce me to the latest techniques in the world of photography, such as slow shutter.

What is the main message you would like to send the world through your photography?

M: I’d like to stir emotions and heighten awareness through my photography and digital art. My work highlights various elements and makes symbolic messages that have a deep meaning. It also brings dreams and imagination to life.

How did your photography journey start, and how did you develop your photography skills?

You also describe yourself as a ‘visual poet.’ Unpack that for me please.

M: It started when I was ten years old. That’s when I got my first camera, which was a Polaroid camera.

My skills developed over time, particularly after I switched from using a Polaroid camera to a digital one. I eventually discovered different styles of photography, learned how to photograph small things in a beautiful and unique manner and began to understand how to use lighting. I am also trained in taking black-and-white photographs, which helped in devel-

M: I try, as much as possible, to produce work that evokes emotions such as nostalgia. To me, that’s what a poet does, but I do it through my visual work.

Which mediums would you like to explore in the future?

M: I’m thinking of switching from using a digital camera to a film camera because photographs taken with

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a film camera often capture a higher level of detail than many digital cameras. Colours are also of a higher quality. However, the problem with film cameras is the high expense of printing photographs.

What is your photography process like? Do you often plan your ideas ahead of time or is your approach more spontaneous?

M: I plan a long time beforehand. I begin by visiting the location where I’d like to take photographs, then I sketch out my ideas and figure out the colour palette. After that, I write down the idea and begin executing it.

Your photographs transport people into another world. How do you create such dreamy photographs?

M: I do that by constructing an idea that simultaneously can be very appealing visually and nostalgic. Having this combination in my photographs might evoke certain emotions that some might call ‘dreamy.’

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How important is it to you to capture Omani culture in your work?

M: Omani culture is an important element of my work, but I also like to diversify the themes I explore.

Sometimes, I like to blend elements from Omani culture with elements from Western culture. Oman inspires me because of its unique features, such as its people, our traditional attire, diverse topography and its lifestyles.

Which of your works is the closest to your heart?

M: Utopia. The work is a metaphor for an environment that’s composed of positive ideas and emotions that protect you from the outside world. It’s close to my heart because it was inspired by my own personal experience.

How have viewers received your work generally?

Have you found that it’s easily understood?

M: I get a lot of different comments from viewers of my work, but most are positive, and they drive me to take more photographs. I get critiques from more senior photographers, which I have to focus on sometimes. Most viewers understand my work, while others need some context, so I try to include a short description below all of my works.

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When Majeda Alhinai ventured into the world of art in the last decade, she had not received any formal training. Flash forward to 2021, the 28 year old is one of Oman’s most promising artists. Her commanding sculptures and installations have been exhibited at the Hauser and Wirth Gallery, the A+D Museum in Los Angeles and the Venice Architecture Biennale. In 2020, she was recognized as the Young Artist of the Year by the Muscat-based Stal Gallery for her art installation, Collectibles, which is a commentary on the value of 21st century collectors’ items when compared to collectors’ items of the past.

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‘I became really interested in “making” in general during my high school years,’ she says. Thus, after graduating, she decided to pursue a bachelor’s degree in architecture at the University of Nottingham in the United Kingdom. ‘What drew me to architecture specifically is its comprehensiveness in terms forms of knowledge. As cliché as it sounds, it’s actually the perfect marriage of art and science.’

Alhinai later complemented her degree with an MS in design theory and pedagogy, and during that time, she became interested in a dual career as a practitioner and educator. From 2017 to 2018, she was a Schidlowski Emerging Faculty Fellow at Kent State CAED. She has taught and been an invited as a guest critic at Southern California Institute of Architecture, Ohio State University, Syracuse University and the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. ‘I really enjoy producing work with my students and together witnessing the product of their labour. There’s a wonderful feedback process that I gain from teaching, I learn from each class, from the students and their reception of my teaching methods. I also enjoy having the opportunity to combine many design forms and disciplines in the courses that I teach,’ she describes.

With the intention of creating art to release it to the public, the architect and educator soon began

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to produce works of her own, including sculptures, installations and digital art. ‘I developed my skills as an artist initially through tools I learned in architecture school. With these tools, I was able to progress my own methods of making, stylistically and practically.’ However, she also had to learn how to do some things on her own. ‘What really helped me to challenge myself was to work towards a specific goal, whether that may be developing a series of work to exhibit, or producing work for an art call. This is when I give myself that chance to produce a narrative that drives the project.’

One of her first installations, Deep Surface, was exhibited in Armstrong Gallery at Kent State CAED. ‘It was a project that explored concepts relating to texture, image mapping and surface, while also taking on the challenge of reclaiming ‘flat’ surface in architecture,’ she says. Conflict was one of the first sculptures Alhinai produced within her design practice, Brash Collective, a multidisciplinary design studio she co-founded with fellow American artist and educator William Virgil in 2016. It addresses the relationship between art and architecture through using a hybrid icon, and is a critique on contemporary culture and how it is now affecting design.

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Through her art, Alhinai is interested in exploring social issues, including, ‘materialism, consumerism, obsession and the human condition, [as well as] other themes relating to form, fetish and delicacy. [Also], neo-baroque aesthetics, pulling elements from the past and re-contextualizing them in the present. I like layering information and art mediums. I also enjoy the clash of seemingly opposite things: elements of different natures can be juxtaposed and intertwined into something new and unexpected.’ She adds, ‘My art style is linked to things that I am generally interested in, just through witnessing or living through these things, they naturally find their way into the work that I do, some of which include: TV, film, 1990’s cartoons, toy making, art toys, Star Wars Lego builds, pop iconography, floral anatomy, ephemerality, storytelling, true crime, cooking, baking and trend forecasting.’

Her preferred medium of artistic expression has been sculpture. What drew her to sculpture, in particular, was its relationship with architecture. However, she notes that ‘sculpture is more free in the sense that it isn’t bound by some of the material and structural implications [that apply to] architecture.’ The young artist is also keen on ‘exploring more specific mate-

rials like ceramic and glasswork. I would also like to eventually get back into painting, which I attempted in my teen years but never stuck with it long enough to develop a personal style.’

As for her other plans for the future, Alhinai states, ‘I hope to eventually become a part of the emergence of public art in Oman. I believe this is important to really advance the design culture in the region as well as enrich the local culture.’

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Artists have long played a vital role in developing Oman’s rich connection between contemporary and traditional art forms. Home to a coterie of artists whose ambitious collections are a complex tie between self-expression and heritage, Oman’s art scene captures the depths of its land and people.

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Two artists, Alia Al Farsi and Hassan Meer, have been fundamental change makers in the art scene. They are considered some of the ‘originals,’ or among the founding figures of modern Omani art. Both artists have helped transform the city’s cultural fabric with works and ideas that have stimulated independent thought against a largely collective society. While their art technique moves in a forward, evolving direction, the work is reverent of its roots, displaying traditions, heritage and customs.

The argument surrounding the shortage of female artists is all too familiar because the problem continues to persist. Not enough female artists are celebrated or even encouraged to be artists. However, many of today’s generation of female artists in Oman are indebted to Al Farsi, who comes from a traditionally more conventional generation, because she helped pave the way for abilities and possibilities to meet. Al Farsi has shown other female artists that they can exercise autonomy over their identity via art and all its richness and depth, which she has done in some of the most unconventional ways.

Al Farsi, who remains one of Oman’s preeminent artists, uses the country’s natural beauty as inspiration – or perhaps a muse. ‘Like the name of this magazine, I

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was born in a sekka (alley) in Mutrah, so I was always captured by the beauty of the sea and the voices of the fishermen and sailors in the early morning. I remember going to Souq Mutrah as a kid with my family and being surrounded by the different colours and scent of spices. The souq and the surrounding suburbs were bursting with colours that inspired me to paint these scenes and the emotions behind them on canvases. Back in the ’70s and ’80s, there were few populated areas in Muscat, the capital of Oman, but my father used to love travelling and exploring new places, so he used to drive us to Fanjah, which was famous for its wadis and greenery back then. I inherited my father’s love for nature, which made me see the world very differently and impacted my art,’ she says.

Al Farsi has been immensely lucky to have her family’s support throughout her career, which gave way to the freedom for introspection she imbues in her art.

‘From travelling to [acquiring] expensive art equipment from around the world, my family always had my back, and because of that, I was able to create and develop skills in modern art at such a young age.

From then on, I have constantly used the voice of art to express the beauty and stories of Oman in various international exhibitions, to share my thoughts

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and love for my country. And so, twenty-eight years later, I celebrate my journey with my fellow artists and admirers with one of my most significant and biggest artworks: Alia Gallery.’ The artist’s gallery, which officially opened in 2020, ‘showcases nearly three decades of my art, inspiring and influencing future generations of artists to invest in the world of art and to turn their hobbies into successful businesses. So, I guess in a way my gallery is my legacy.

My sea of emotions and thoughts were all captured by a single invaluable artwork. I hope that aspiring artists will find the gallery a place of understanding, with ideas to which they can relate, taking away with them a feeling of encouragement and a delightful art experience.’

Despite its fortified art scene, Oman is still a nation acquiring international acclaim in the art space; therefore, it is essential to spread ideas and keep people engaged. Further, through Al Farsi’s deep-rooted love of her country, evidently reflected in her work, over the years she has taken her art far and wide to present and represent Oman. ‘I think that art is a global language that people can understand and relate to. So, I consider myself an ambassador of Omani culture and heritage since I represent the sultan-

ate in many countries and made a point to educate people about the beauty of Oman, the traditions and what makes it different from other countries. This has only increased my bond with my land, and it makes me proud to see what we have achieved in the last few decades, especially as Omani women.’

A notable highlight in Al Farsi’s career was a solo exhibition at Communique Celestial in Tokyo. ‘I had to go through a lot of work and made hundreds of calls to make it happen: from painting to selecting the venue, funding the project and handling packaging and shipment. The whole journey was equally trying and satisfying. I always like to oversee all the details from A to Z when it comes to my exhibitions, and I make a point to hang all the paintings myself.

This exhibition opened doors for me, and I was later invited to showcase my work in Brussels, Turkey, Paris and many other major cities in Europe and Asia.

While working individually is vital for your growth as an artist, it is also important to connect and build a strong network with art enthusiasts abroad to ensure more exposure to collectors and fans. In a way, I was lucky that the Omani ambassador in Tokyo was an art enthusiast, which really contributed to the success of Communique Celestial.’

The freedom of expression is essential to the arts.

It is a contentious right that triggers often-divisive debates about the artist’s responsibility to balance between respecting and challenging society’s sensibilities. For Hassan Meer, Oman’s evolution as a nation towards greater openness has had a proportionate influence on his art and how he expresses himself today.

‘Many decades ago, art was something very basic and new in Oman, and there were limited opportunities. My first introduction to art was in school – it was a way for me to express myself. I had tried other forms of activities like music and sports, but art produced pure passion in me. It was the only thing that I felt like I had a strong connection to. But still, it was still viewed as a hobby and not a career. Nevertheless, I began honing my craft at the Art Studio – a government-backed creative space in Muscat – until I went abroad to Austria in my late teens to develop skills in life drawing and mixed media, among other areas,’ he recalls.

After studying at The Savannah College of Art and Design, Meer returned to Oman where he the encountered ‘hundreds of emerging artists in the early

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2000s.’ Despite being a contemporary art advocate, it was still an underdeveloped form that Meer helped introduce incrementally in Oman via workshops and hosting government-supported international exhibitions.

The need to explore abstract subjects, such as spirituality and humans’ mortality, is a matter of need for Meer. However, for the society at large, it takes time to ‘warm up’ to them because these abstract subjects force a level of discomfort in the collective thought process. That said, Meer claims that, ‘the mentality is different now. I couldn’t speak my truth in the past, but society has embraced a wider space for openness and honesty.’

When society still challenges Meer in terms of cultural expectations, he channels that pressure by embracing his truths in art. ‘There’s this fire in me. An individual has so many layers to them. In my art, I have created a formal dialogue between me and me.’

Meer considers it ‘the language of the heart.’

Perhaps Meer’s greatest achievement – in which he and other artists actively reap the rewards – is The Stal Gallery, a space he birthed where Omani artists

can exhibit their work. It has turned into a space that triggers debates about the changing approaches to visual arts. Meer began this movement by imbuing his work with fascinating tales of the older generations of Mutrah, where he was born. Through his work, he pioneered storytelling by using multimedia such as installation and video. Today, the gallery presents innovative projects to challenge the audience’s understanding, analysis and appreciation of contemporary art, and it is on par with global reputable galleries.

For both Meer and Al Farsi, their plans are focused on galleries and exhibitions. ‘The Alia Art Gallery is just the beginning, and as I grow, this project will grow alongside me and expand not only within the region, but worldwide as well,‘ says Al Farsi. Meer is also gearing up to exhibit at Venice Bienniale – one of the most prestigious international exhibitions – to introduce a self-reflection piece; ‘It’s me, but in a different way.’

During the global pandemic, Meer confronted a creative block. ‘A lot of people were able to process their creativity with the more time we had, [but] it wasn’t that effective for me during the pandemic. I couldn’t go to my studio. But now I am up and running again.’

He is also a frontrunner in the art community by incubating emerging talent. In turn, their work inspires Meer. ‘They have a power that I don’t. They have a strong social media [presence]. Their network is very visible. Every exhibition they curate is packed. They have this amazing energy for critical conversation, which is very necessary on polarising subjects that are typically challenged. Art has the power to affect change.’

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he internati al curator

As an independent curator and educator, As Aisha an independent curator andart educator, Dr. Stoby knows Omani and theDr. Aisha Stoby knows Omani artinand the Omani Omani art scene intimately, a way that art scene intimately, in a waydo. thatThe only33 a handful only a handful of people year of people 33 year oldresume.

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She has a bachelor’s degree has a bachelor’s degree in the history of art in the history of art andthe archaeology from the and archaeology from School of OrienSchool Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), tal and of African Studies (SOAS), a master’s a master’s degree contemporary in curating contemporary degree in curating art from art Royal from the Royal of College of Art, and PhD the College Art, and a PhD in athe in the history art,her with her thesis focusing history of art, of with thesis focusing on on the modern movements in Oman, the modern art art movements in Oman, thethe United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Bahrain, from SOAS, where she Kuwait and Bahrain, from SOAS, where she currently teaches. currently teaches.

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In addition to pursuing an academic path, Dr. Stoby has also been curating exhibitions in close collaboration with various Omani entities. These have included Al Fen Yettahedeth (Art Speaks), an art exhibition held in Muscat in 2010 as part of a larger programme to train female artists from Oman’s interior region, Oman et La Mer, an exhibition on Oman’s trade history at the National Maritime Museum in Paris in 2013 and Salon Oman Nour, a 2013 exhibition at the Leighton House Museum in London of modern Omani artists Hassan Meer and Radhika Khimji, alongside British artist Dillwyn Smith, who was a Delfina Foundation Resident in Oman at that time. Through her curatorial work and academic focus, she has helped increase the visibility of Omani artists and introduce their work within the country and abroad.

I spoke with the curator and educator about her beginnings in the world of curation, discussed what Omani artists offer the world through their art, delved into how their representation can be increased and uncovered her hopes for the Omani art scene. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Why did you enter the world of art curation?

A: Truthfully, I had always felt passionate about the arts. I enjoyed creating it but somehow did not feel that it was a vocation. I have to say that as soon as I knew what the word ‘curator’ meant, I knew it was something that I would be interested in doing. Having that role in terms of translation, research, putting together materials and, crucially, making art public – both through exhibitions and in terms of education – has been a driving force for me. I think, speaking in the case of Oman in particular, we have had so much local talent over the past decades, and having this role of being able to highlight that talent, place that talent in a regional and global context and discuss some of the pedagogies and theorisations around those narratives has really been a privilege. For me, I think the role of a curator in a Khaleeji (Gulf) context is going to be more and more crucial – the role of a translator in the coming decades.

Can you expand on some of the exhibitions and shows have you curated or helped curate with regards to Oman?

A: I’ve been very fortunate to work both with Oman’s Ministry of Culture in the past, and independently on projects inside and outside of Oman. The first major project I worked on was in 2010. I had just concluded working for the Bait Muzna Gallery, which at the time was participating in the newly established Art Dubai and Art Abu Dhabi, and I founded an art foundation with some dear friends and colleagues. The title of the programme was Al Fen Yettahedeth (Art Speaks), and we sent out an open call to Omani women from the interior of Oman. We brought them to Muscat and orchestrated a training course with many major artists throughout the country. We also enabled placements in our major galleries at the time: Bait Muzna Gallery, Bait Al Zubair Gallery [and] the Fine Arts Society; to conclude the programme, we held an exhibition that was opened by our now sultan, H.M. Sultan Haitham bin Tariq Al Said, who was the Minister of Culture at the time. It was, of course, indicative of how longstanding his interests in the arts has been. Highlights for me, following that experience, include curating Oman et La Mer, an exhibition on Oman’s Trade history’s at the National Maritime

Museum in Paris in 2013. Another was Salon Oman Nour, which was an exhibition at the Leighton House Museum of modern Omani artists Hassan Meer and Radhika Khimji, alongside British artist Dillwyn Smith, who was a Delfina Foundation Resident in Oman at that time. I have some very exciting new projects that I look forward to sharing with you in due course.

Given that you’ve helped curate Omani artists’ works in the past, how has their work been received, particularly abroad?

A: I can honestly say that it has been a privilege to be able to play that role in promoting and representing Oman in a global context, and to share work by Omani artists in exhibitions, talks and lectures in universities and various institutions. Work by Omani artists is always met by great curiosity, interest and favour.

As a country, we’re known for many things: our diplomacy, far-reaching trade histories, multiculturalism, indigenous heritage and global outreach. Although we’re very established, regionally speaking, in our own art narrative, it’s not something that we’ve been known for globally to the same extent as our neighbours. It has been a great pleasure to be able to bridge some of those gaps.

What makes Omanis’ artworks special, in your opinion? In other words, what do Omani artists have to offer to the world?

A: Omani artists offer a timelessness. There are many things about our culture that one must really experience to understand, and which can be witnessed almost immediately. We have a long-standing history across continents... When people talk about multiculturalism and global contexts, this is not new in our narrative or our arts. Similarly, that level of tolerance and understanding that is derived from Omanis’ exposure can be seen in the sensibility of different artworks. There are Omanis who haven’t studied outside of Oman or shown outside of it, but simply because of their local infrastructure and backgrounds, they have a broader and more developed sense of their neighbours and a far more nuanced sense of where their history is placed than one might initially expect.

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What can be done, by artists themselves and by institutions, to increase the representation of Omani artists worldwide in prominent museums and galleries? How can they set themselves apart, and what can role can institutions play to support them?

A: We’re living through a very important time for art history, not just as a country but as a region, and not just from a West Asian or the Middle Eastern vantage point, but from the positioning of the global south, or 'non- western' countries. We are being incorporated in larger narratives, which we may have wrongly been excluded from in the past. Major museums and institutions in the West are now drastically attempting to correct and rewrite their narratives to be more inclusive. At the same time, institutions and museoglogical narratives are being being developed in the Middle East. In the Gulf and Oman we are going through a time of reclaiming our own pedagogies and being able to document our own histories in our own voices. I would say that the agency that we are claiming in an art-historical dialogue is crucial, and I would even go further to say that people are really listening for it.

Regarding governmental insitutions I am aware that there are major projects under development from the newly formed Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sport and there has been a lot of support for our local art scene, which has greatly complemented the private sector and private initiatives that have been nurutured by local artists.

Personally, I’ve been involved in mentorship programs, judging artist prizes for local young emerging artists and have been in conversations with young artists who are working on engaging and dynamic projects, while the previous generations have been doing their utmost to pass on their skills. We have a vibrant grassroots movement, and it’s really been a pleasure to be a part of it.

How important are school curriculums, if at all, in this?

A: One very common misconception, which has for some reason been rampant, is that there is no art education in the Gulf, which is simply not the case.

Even preceding nation states and the formation of identities in their modern iterations, we have had art education in schools and fine arts societies had been

established. What is true is that we have not had higher education establishments for the visual arts, and I’m very happy to say that this is being corrected now. I think that very a welcome and very beautiful consequence of the institutions developed in Oman and regionally, including The Mathaf in Qatar, The Louvre Abu Dhabi, The Guggenheim Abu Dhabi and many of our other neighbours’ projects and initiatives, is that it gives locals opportunities to look at these institutions and say, ’Actually my child could be an artist,’ ’Actually, there is a career for my child in what they’re doing’ or ’Actually, there is a great worthiness in the visual arts, locally and abroad.’

What are your hopes for the Omani art scene?

A: That it grows and grows and grows and that it sees its own worth and beauty, and that others are able to see that as well.

Who are some of your favourite Omani artists?

A: Some of my favourite Omani artists from the older generations include Anwar Sonya, who many people know as The Godfather of Omani art. He’s a real pioneer regionally. Rabha Mahmood is another favour-

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ite, who is a prolific and innovative artist who was active throughout the 1970s. She and Anwar Sonya worked together in the Youth Studio and really nurtured many of the artists from the next generation.

Hassan Meer, of course, is someone who I always reference. He is such an important figure in Oman as an artist, curator and mentor to many. He’s a very innovative installation artist. Radhika Khimji is someone I’ve worked with in the past, and who always inspires me every day. She has done things that no one has ever thought of in Oman, such as Safe Landings at Barka Fort and other incredible land art installations.

For the younger generation, I would just say keep your eyes on them all because there are so many wonderful artists at the moment who are starting collectives, galleries and doing really interesting work.

What are some of your future plans?

A: I am working on two very exciting exhibitions that will take place in 2022, one in Italy of Omani artists, and one in Abu Dhabi, of regional artists and modernism in the Arabian Peninsula. Those projects are very dear to my heart, and I’ve been working on them in various iterations for nearly a decade, so I’m very excited to be able to bring them to the fore.

Other exciting projects include the publication of my own book, which looks at Khaleeji modern art movements, global context theorisations and greater narratives starting from the mid-20th century. I’m looking forward to sharing these projects very soon.

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BE INSPIRED

khaleejiartmuseum.com Photo from the Museum collection by Ishaq Madan.

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Amal Waqar. Image courtesy of Amal Waqar.

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Imagine, if you will, the soothing sounds of the majestic Arabian oud, and it is not a man playing the instrument like you would typically expect in this male-dominated field but Oman’s vibrant Amal Waqar. A musician and composer whose musical journey started from a young age, as a child, Waqar was always drawn to music and gravitated towards instruments. But only later did she became serious about an instrument, when she saw and picked up the oud for the first time at 15 years old.

When I ask her, ‘Why the oud?’ she explains that it was part circumstance, part innate love for the instrument. If she had been raised in the US, for example, she probably would have gotten serious about the guitar, or if she had been raised in India, the bansuri, she says. As a collective, Arabs ‘have a very nostalgic view of the oud, a purist, and bordering on nationalistic, view of what the oud represents,’ she says.

No one in Waqar’s family plays music, but her mother has always loved music and exposed her to it. When she saw the spark it brought out in her daughter, she encouraged her by taking her to concerts whenever they happened in Muscat and supported her through education and early performances. Waqar also learned by watching jalsat (traditional musical sessions) on friends’ and families’ television sets and on YouTube. ‘I really started exploring the international world of oud when I discovered YouTube. It’s still a huge resource for me,’ she says.

At 17, Waqar made national headlines as the youngest and first female Omani musician to headline a recital. She explains that it was a great honour that Oman’s Oud Hobbyist Association trusted her at that time with the early vision she had in mind of the kind

of music she wanted to make. That moment and trust instilled in her a great deal of confidence and encouraged her to pursue her vision. After graduating from school, Waqar went off to study at the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston and pursued her studies with oud master Simon Shaheen. ‘The opportunity to work with Simon opened my eyes to the history and culture of classical Arabic music—particularly the periods he focuses on—and strengthened my relationship with the oud. He truly is a master musician, and getting access to his perspective of the instrument really helped me deepen my own awareness,’ she states.

Today, at 25 years old, Waqar is amongst the most promising young oud players from the region (and one of the few women), and with time, she may become one of the best in the world.

In addition to playing the instrument, Waqar is also a composer. The young musician finds inspiration everywhere. ‘When I sit down to write, my whole life affects what comes out. When seeking inspiration, I look everywhere: to literature, to art, to film, to relationships, to other music, to the history of human consciousness. The list is endless.’

The creative feels very blessed to get to call this her career; part of her job has included performing for private and live events, including Katara’s Festival for Oud Instrument and the Beirut and Beyond International Music Festival. She has also performed with the National Arab Orchestra.

Like that of many other musicians worldwide, however, her work has been affected by the pandemic and its lockdowns, restrictions and uncertainties.

But Waqar has a balanced view of the situation and believes we need to focus on the mental health dialogue. ‘Something I have noticed during this pandemic is the increased pressure for creatives to be producing all the time, but I think this can be really draining and can eventually become toxic. It’s really important that we continue the ongoing conversation on mental health during this time,’ she explains.

Everyone needs to continue to be realistic with what they expect from creatives, she adds. ‘If musicians want to perform live on platforms, that’s great, and if musicians want to take a step back, that’s also great.’

Lockdown gave Waqar a much needed moment to breathe and reflect on the experiences she has had. ‘Everything was going at 180 mph, and I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, honestly. This time has been crucial for me to reconnect with my true artistic vision and aspirations.’ At the same time, however, ‘right now, I really miss expanding on my performance skillset through live concerts. I’d love to do more of that,’ she says.

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One of Waqar’s most memorable performances was playing at an immigration-themed concert in a small restaurant in the US. She felt it went very poorly.

‘Every musician has these moments and knows what I am talking about,’ she adds. It left her feeling discouraged for a long time. Only later did she find out that some Khaleeji students and immigrants were in the audience whom her music had moved to tears.

‘Learning about this impacted me in many ways, not only professionally but musically and personally, too,’ she describes.

As for the future, we will have to wait and see what this music magician has in store for us, as Waqar sees the creative life as one in a constant state of metamorphosis: ‘Seven years ago, I would never have been able to imagine I would be where I am now, so it feels kind of short-sighted to claim I know where I’ll be in another seven, especially with the rate at which the industry is changing right now,’ she says.

‘I am always plotting, though, and my ultimate goal is to create a body of work that feels as completely raw and authentic as possible and to be as reflective as water.’ We have yet much to see from this talented musician and composer, but in the meantime, she leaves us with some pearls of wisdom: whether you have started something new or not, Waqar says, ‘Trust what you love and want to make. People will rarely know or understand what you have envisioned in your heart and mind and what you’re trying to say.

But it’s not their job to. It’s your job to explore and remain honest with yourself and bring it to life.’

'When I sit down to write, my whole life affects what comes out.'

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Please be kind to me, you have no idea what I have been through, I deserve to be loved, respected, but I feel broken and can no longer be a wife. I have tried, Allah knows I have, but I can’t give anymore and this divorce has brought me relief, Alhamdulillah.

I know the road ahead of me is a challenging one, and I pray I have the strength to overcome any obstacles that will come my way; I have to.

By H.H. Sayyida Mayya Al Said ‘I am divorced… I am divorced,’ I repeated over and over again as my affirmation.

‘My marriage ended, not my life, but yet I feel judged, and I know I will be blamed for it all.’

‘What will people say?’

‘You should think of the kids.’

‘Give it another chance.’

‘Marriage is about sacrifice.’

These are only some of the comments that I knew I would get as I prepared to face the society that was waiting to pass its advice/ judgement.

Why do people have to be so mean? I constantly thought to myself. Why was it suddenly everyone’s business why my marriage ended? How was it okay for everyone to know such a private part of my personal life? What was I going to say? What was going to happen to my kids? Would he take them away?

Men are going to see me as ‘easy.’ How was going to I show my face at family gatherings? I knew I would definitely be the talk of town.

I wish people had more empathy towards women who are going through a divorce, I would say to myself. You really don’t know the full story, and news flash, you might never know it. One thing I can tell you for sure, however, is that no woman gets into a marriage with divorce as her end goal. Sometimes two people just can’t be together anymore, and that’s that.

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Sadly, divorce is on the rise. The data gathered by the National Centre for Statistics and Information in Oman state that 536 divorce cases were registered in 2010, compared to 736 cases in 2019; there has been more than a 30 per cent increase in divorces.

Despite the rise in divorce rates, many people are still not accommodating towards divorced women.

How long will we keep playing the blame and shame game? The truth of the matter is that divorce is part of our society, and there is nothing wrong with it.

People would say, ‘But a marriage has ended, a home is broken, the kids are torn.’ I get it. It’s tragic, and some take a very long time to recover from it, but my point is that it’s not a death sentence.

In 2012, my nine-year-marriage ended, so I know firsthand what it feels like to be divorced. My life as I knew it had changed forever, from being married to being a single mother to two girls. That alone takes a toll on you, and add to that being judged by society. No one truly understands how that feels except those who have gone through it (just like anything in life, really). However, looking back now, I realise that everything happens for a reason. I was meant to have this experience so I could grow, learn and help others with this transition.

Since July of 2021, I have dedicated my career to helping divorced women rebuild their lives with the H.E.A.L. program, which is an acronym for: Help yourself heal Establish a new identity Acceptance Love every aspect of you and your life

What makes this program unique is that I have experienced what they are going through. I know the pain points, the struggles, the internal dialogue, their worries... I know it all. I was once in their shoes, and the fact that I am now confident and living my best life is their ultimate goal; they want to heal, become stronger, find joy and – who knows? – maybe even find love again.

My experiences have taught me that we all deserve a second chance at happiness, and it is through the kindness and support we provide each other that we can truly help each other reach that happiness and make a difference in what can sometimes be a cruel world. We just need to take the first step, and be there for each other.

Through my four-month, one-on-one online coaching program, I help divorced women gain confidence, get rid of limiting beliefs, shape their new identity, get excited about their future and ultimately accept and love their lives. As a coach, my job is to give my female clients space to express their feelings with no judgement and help them manage their emotions, build their confidence and make their transition as smooth as possible.

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By Mohammed Al Wahaibi A few years back, after co-founding AlRud’ha, a co-working platform for people to work, learn and network in Oman, we had the good fortune of being at the centre of our creative scene along with many entities who shared the same passion for advancing our creative industry. Five thousand members and a few years of understanding the needs and dynamics of our market later, we found that there was a glaring gap in terms of the ability to transform creative ideas into sustainable and viable opportunities. It was clear to us that we never lacked the ideas or the creative minds; rather, the matter was much more complex.

With that need in mind, we founded Al-Jabr, a company that aims to leverage creativity and innovation in our communities to create and bridge opportunities by focusing on start-up development, corporate start-up engagement and, most importantly, access to human, financial and intellectual capital.

2020 has been a disruptive year for everyone, especially the creative industry. Many companies went out of business. Numerous workers were let go from their jobs. For many, it will remain the single most life-changing year of their lifetime. For the first time in a very long time, the entire world shared a threat that affected their daily lives immediately. Although I do not want to be overly optimistic, I believe that this event put in motion forces far beyond our control that will define our next decade, at least. It has magnified our ability to harness our own ingenuity and to leverage the work of others, uniting us in creating extraordinary outcomes. This event is not unique to our present day; it is a natural progression of human intellect after every turbulent era. Although the world is overcome by financial trauma, we hold in our hands an opportunity to build the most creatively progressive time of our lives.

As challenging as it may seem, to achieve economic transformation, we must cultivate this new force of production – the creative industry, which can be capitalised as a real engine of development and growth.

The many economic crises that our modern history has recorded prompted a stimulation of innovation, with the creation of new technologies as a direct outcome.

So, how can we create wealth and build prosperity from the creative industry in our Oman and the wider Gulf region?

Although the creative industry manifests in many forms, there seems to be one major stimulant, in my opinion, for the industry to not only take shape, but to prosper. In our region, the creative industry is divided into three main groups: individuals, organised socieies and businesses. The major factor that can prevent these groups from flourishing is the environment. The most important factor in the success of this industry is not the availability of creative individuals, as I believe everyone can be creative in their own merit. As intersubjective as creativity can be, the lack of an economic organising unit such as the environment (or place) can have a negative impact on the advancement of this industry. A new cultural perspective is fully realised only when it is well-incubated.

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One of the main roles of major economic cities around the world is to foster creativity by imbedding processes and paths than can open doors for creative individuals to apply creativity in various areas of our lives. There needs to be an aggressive cultural and institutional movement towards creating opportunities for inclusive participation and creativity . Looking into the most successful creative industries around the world, we understand that creativity doesn’t come from companies or governments; it comes from communities and the cities that nourish them. In a time of globalisation and global social platforms, we are more open and connected to the world than ever, and our environment has become more important than ever.

In all the years I have worked on building AlRud’ha and Al-Jabr, I have come to firmly believe that the creative industry has many more dimensions to it than what seems apparent. It goes beyond arts and culture. What really stimulates this economy is the application of creativity in fields such as science, education, health, community and business. For us to expand this economy, it has to be rooted in reconstructing the environment. We must open more doors to allow creativity in what we do. By unlocking the creative capabilities of everyone from children to adults, along with cultural and institutional support, we will witness a prosperous shift in areas from architecture, education and science to technology, urban planning and media.

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By Rumaitha Al Busaidi It’s a warm cosy day in the beginning of August as I search for the Suhail star, or as we call it in Arabic, Najm Suhail. While growing up, I remember my grandmother, Zubaida, telling me that once you spot the star, it means that winter is coming. But I haven’t been successful yet. ‘It will show up tomorrow,’ I say to myself as I close my eyes and enjoy the sound of the waves crashing on the rocky Muscat beach. The Sea of Oman has been my solace – the place I go to reflect, remember her stories, and document as much as I can remember on my iPhone notes.

I have a fear of forgetting every single thing she taught me and every story I’ve heard from her – about how Oman used to be, how things are now so different to the times they lived, the hardships they went through and the development and prosperity that they built after. As a millennial, I hold those lessons close to my heart and try to put myself in the shoes of those who came before me. What would my ancestors think of me now? What would they say about us and the place we call home? Would they think that all their time and effort, from the long trip between one Omani village and the next for their livelihood, to surviving life without electricity, schools and hospitals, was worth it? If anything, I have learned patience and hard work from them; I have learned that once you are armed with a vision, you can make unthinkable things happen. And now it’s our turn.

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We are practically the first generation to have been born into the prosperity that Oman is in today, an Oman unlike no other. One that was named the most improved country by the UN, rid of war, filled with peace and advancement. An Oman that only rises and prospers thanks to the effort of its people. We have heard stories of how tough life was back then, but never lived it. One of the stories that continues to strike me is my grandmother telling me how sometimes they were so hungry they ended up eating paper to fill their tummies, because there was nothing else to eat. We hear these stories and are in awe of how our forefathers survived such brutal circumstances to ensure that we lived the best lives we possibly could. But now, here we are wasting food, treating the environment as a dump site and taking most of the basic services that they never enjoyed for granted. Many of us have grown complacent, expecting things to be handed to us because this is simply how it has always been. But the truth is, it hasn’t.

It is okay for us to be fed up as we navigate a pandemic constituting a crisis within a set of crises; facing the worst economic decline in the last century, we need to put in more effort into how we want to be remembered. Do we want future generations to remember us as fierce people who put the benefit of the country ahead of our own and built up a better Oman that they are proud of? Or do we want to be labelled as the generation that had everything at our fingertips but chose to do nothing but criticise and complain?

We need to stop and ask ourselves: what would it mean for us to be good ancestors? This isn’t just about us or just you. This is about the thousands who are currently being born into this pandemic at no fault of their own. This is about the next generations that will come into our world after us and experience far more challenges.

Today, we have a very rare and narrow opportunity to build back better and leave that old norm behind.

Nothing is off the table, and any idea is worth considering, but we also need to remind ourselves that nothing is guaranteed. We need to put in the hours and the effort to ensure that we realise the Oman that we want to see. Let’s leave behind heirlooms and not legacies, seek out and listen to the voices of the future and be the ethical custodians of this place we call home. It’s time for us to not just predict the future, but to imagine it, too!

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As a child, when I began exploring the hills dotting the campus, I started to encounter so many interesting and diverse-looking rocks that it only seemed natural to bring them back home. There were only so many that I could take with me in one go, though, which happily meant that there were always more waiting for me to find whenever I returned, making my rock-hunting expeditions a regular affair.

By Priyanka Sacheti There is a childhood picture of myself sitting at the foot of a white-veined grey mountain. The picture was taken in Nakhal, a town in Northern Oman famous for its hot springs. I last visited Nakhal during my annual trip to Oman a little over a year ago. As it was the National Day holiday, families crowded the springs, the children frolicking in the warm water and shrieking as schools of tiny, stone-coloured fish nibbled on their feet. But I was more interested in revisiting the mountain slab that I had encountered all those years ago, and I was glad to see that it had remained the same.

The photograph was taken on a day-long family picnic to the town. While we must have also ritually dipped our feet in the warm waters, what particularly leaps out to me from both the photograph and my library of memories is my sheer happiness at being in the company of a mountain. It was as if I had come close to a celebrity, otherwise so majestic, grand and remote – and now I was actually sitting on it. I grew up and lived in Oman for many years, calling home a university campus where my parents taught and still live. The campus itself was built upon a hilly wadi (valley) bed, and when I awakened in the morning, the first thing I glimpsed were the apricot-tinted mauve Hajar Mountains. They changed colour and texture all throughout the day, and I could never decide whether they looked their most beautiful during dawn or sunset.

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My family and I went on many road trips into the heart of Oman’s interior, where we would glimpse the mountains in closer and more intimate proximity. I recall their shapes, colours and textures rapidly transforming with each kilometre, showcasing the dazzling diversity of the landscape’s geology. We would drive on roads constructed by slicing up mountains, demonstrating the power and magnificence of modern technology. Sometimes, when we stopped to glimpse an almost perpendicular rock face overlooking a pebbly wadi bed, we would just gawk at the vast richness of the rocks around us. We were alone – and yet not. Ancient watchtowers topped hill summits, and goats were everywhere, walking upon the usually dry wadis or climbing hills towards a lone twisting acacia tree. When the sun set, the mountains would dissolve into a series of water-coloured layers, each a similar shade and yet each utterly distinct from the other. I can still see them, these paintings of mountains on a winter dusk, this landscape that spells out home.

I now live in Bangalore, which is situated approximately 950 meters above sea level, making it one of the highest cities in India. So, I am essentially living on a mountain. Yet, when I read the word 'mountain,' it is Oman’s mountains that I see in front of my eyes. During my annual visits, the moment I become aware that we are approaching Oman, I peer down from the airplane window to see massive ripples rising from the flat desert. I remember leafing through atlases as a child and seeing how higher topography would be a more vivid colour than the plains. I was seeing my maps come alive.

Yet, there is some sadness in every trip I make to Oman; I see the mountains that protectively circle Muscat being cut down in an attempt to accommodate the capital’s growing demands and needs. The gashes upon the mountain are no less than a wound, each vanishing mountain slab or hill irrevocably altering the appearance of the place I call home. Yet, home it will forever be, no matter how many mountains disappear, living only in the maps of my memory and imagination.

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By Maisa Al-Jabri People tend to get scared of things that they are ignorant of. They usually communicate this fear and vulnerability as rage and rejection. Omani society erects boundaries to try and protect what it considers traditional and rejects anything new it is not used to. This tendency can limit the creativity of artists in the country and discourage them from exploring new ideas or tackling important issues. I think about this problem as an art enthusiast whenever I look at an art piece by an Omani artist that is extremely creative and out of the box. I think about how brave the artist is to get out of their—and society’s—comfort zone because I know there will be as much criticism as there will be support. Then it makes me question how free the creative scene in Oman actually is today.

Although art is subjective and can be interpreted in myriad ways, in Omani society, many people tend to treat it in the same way. In other words, people will appreciate a piece of art if it reflects society’s positive aspects and reject it when they don’t understand it or it seems to conflict with Omani traditions. But even with this knowledge, many artists still create art that people might reject because art in itself is not meant only to be beautiful and accepted but meaningful and a conversation sparker.

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‘Art can serve to change and help a society to progress,’ believes Aysha Al Bakry, an Omani artist of mixed ethnicity, who has been working in the industry since 2015, for example. Al Bakry creates collages that are influenced by Omani society and that explore the limitations it sets. She uses her art as a mirror to address issues in her culture, even when she feels some of the art will not be accepted as ‘Omani.’

She also thinks that the art industry in Oman perhaps lacks the support it needs to encourage artists to be more creative. Mazin Al Wahaibi, who, like Al Bakry, is an Omani collage artist, also highlights this point. Al Wahaibi explains that even when Omani society seems to be generally supportive of the new ideas that he presents through his art, society still sets limitations that he finds difficult to cross. Giving the example of gender, he always hesitates to put any female elements in his works because he fears the piece will be criticised and rejected if they do not fit the Omani image of what a woman should be.

However, Al Wahaibi believes that artists should still respect these limitations and embrace them.

Al Wahaibi’s approach is common amongst people in Omani society. Men and women are usually told simply to respect traditions not to cause any conflict within society. For example, I was asked, as a writer, to stop addressing issues and subjects that do not match society’s traditions, and as much as I tried to resist this criticism and not let it get to me, it did affect how creative I was when I wrote.

While freedom within Oman’s creative scene might be limited by society and can interfere with some artists’ work, others have found it inspiring. Waad Al Harthy is a young Omani digital artist who creates pieces that depict Omani society. She states that Omani society has had a definitive influence in her creativity, ‘whether it be [by] appreciating our culture or defying cultural norms.’ A digital illustration by her titled Ride Culture is a good example. The colourful work depicts an Omani man wearing a purple dishdasha (a traditional, usually white, dress worn by men), something that is not generally acceptable in society, on a bike. Al Harthy is the perfect example of a good artist who uses any limitations coming her way to create even more expressive art. She is a reminder that artists can still maintain their creativity despite the limitations others set.

Overall, the creative scene in Oman is yet to be nurtured enough to allow more freedom within it. Numerous emerging artists deserve support and recognition, especially the ones who use their creativity to shed light on issues that others do not have the courage to recognise or discuss. Society will always set limitations, but good art is one that can start a conversation, so it is always in an artist’s hands to find creative ways to tackle these limitations. Artists and any individuals working on the creative scene in Oman should continue to present new ideas and push boundaries so the next generations find a freer scene to work in.

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Omani artist Said Al Jahdami thinks of art as ‘a way of survival and a way to express those trapped emotions that tongues cannot say.’ A mechanical engineering student by day and artist by night, Al Jahdami has been captivated by art since childhood, when he first began to explore it. As he grew older, cubism, symbolism and surrealism in particular heavily influenced and shaped his acrylic paintings, which express a breadth of his emotions, thoughts and reflections on the current state of the world.

be. Tranquility highlights the peace that was born for some within the chaotic COVID-19 crisis due to the escape they got from their everyday lives. Globalization symbolizes how much closer and smaller the world has seemingly become because of globalisation. Village revolves around the concept of never being truly alone because one is surrounded by people, birds, trees, mountains, the sunrise and the Earth; there is something that belongs to everyone, and it waits for individuals when they are not there.

The Prisoner depicts the negative inner voices and illusions that place a person in a prison of their own making.

Similarly, The Last Battle captures the mental battle that occurs within oneself; between who to be and who not to

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Emergency Entertainment by Omani artist Widad Al Harthy Image courtesy of Widad Al Harthy.

Beginning at 5 pm on 19 July, 2021 and lasting until 4 am on 24 July, 2021, a period marking the Islamic Eid Al Adha Holiday, Oman underwent a strict nationwide lockdown to curb the spread of the lethal COVID-19 virus. Many Omani and Oman-based artists responded creatively to having to celebrate Eid under such restricted conditions, and took to their cameras, canvases, sketch pads and tablets to document this unusual Eid experience and express their thoughts. One artist whose work stood out during this period and was widely circulated on social media was Widad Al Harthy. Al Harthy, more popularly known as ‘Illhueminartsy’ on Instagram, is a 25 year old Omani digital artist whose digital illustrations are characterised by their light-hearted and entertaining take on popularly

discussed topics and contemporary trends. In this series of four illustrations, the young artist captures the pyjamas many people resorted to wearing while unable to dress up, go out and gather with family and friends. She illustrates the old-school entertainment – the Indian Carrom tabletop game, which is popular in the Arab Gulf region – that numerous Omani citizens and residents began to play after having had enough of digital entertainment.

She also depicts the rise in the consumption of trusty instant noodles amongst some who ran out of fresh food options during this time, and humorously illustrates the widely felt anticipation in the last moments before lockdown was finally lifted.

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Emergency Entertainment by Omani artist Widad Al Harthy Image courtesy of Widad Al Harthy.

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Art, for 30-year-old Omani artist Mohammed Alattar, has always been about building safe spaces where others could express their emotions, vulnerabilities and feelings of alienation without fear of judgement or reprimand.

Carrying the message ‘Allow yourself to feel,’ Alattar’s works, which range from digital artworks and acrylic paintings to dry ink sketches and mixed-media works, have drawn in viewers over the years who are undergoing hardships, who have a difficult time communicating how they truly feel in a society that is not always welcoming of such expressions of vulnerability, particularly when these feelings are expressed by men.

It is not easy to be ‘a male in a society that has built an image that [indicates that] masculinity means we have to be emotionless,’ he describes. ‘I am breaking out of that stereotype, which is very challenging as not everyone is accepting of it.’

Strongly believing that the more vulnerable he is in his art, the better he is able to connect with others through it, Alattar’s artworks, as shown here, often depict him holding or communicating with a smaller version of himself. This, he says, is a coping mechanism; the smaller version is a darker version of himself that he has learnt to love and accept, which has in turn helped him become a stronger person.

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‘Art is a way of life. We have to see art in everything surrounding us,’ states Khalid Alshaqsi, a 24 year old emerging photographer from Oman. His photograph, which was created in collaboration with Abd Al Aziz Youssef Obaid Alkyomi, is a testament to that. The photograph creatively depicts individuals’ ability to manage their lives entirely on their own and emphasizes the importance of being self-built.

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Omani women have been known for their strength and leadership throughout the centuries. This photograph captures one of Oman’s mighty contemporary women, Nasra Al Ghuzaili. Nasra, who hails from Qurayyat, is interested in heritage, traditional arts and crafts. She has her own museum in the small fishing town that exhibits artefacts and antiques, such as the one she is holding in this photograph.

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Oman has countless rich human tales to offer that have been shaped by its vast history and culture. 22 year old Fatema Al Frqani’s goal as an artist is to depict some of these stories of love, migration, religiosity and humbleness.

The Omani artist has been drawn to showcasing these special local tales since childhood, and with the help of her father, who taught her how to draw and paint at an early age, she has been able to do exactly that for the last several years. The result is a collection of soulful oil paintings, the stories of which are set locally, but which have universal relevance and resonance. The Migrants revolves around the theme of mobility to seek a better life, as migration has been a recurring theme in Oman's history.

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Award-winning Omani photographer Majid Al Amri captures one of Oman’s gems in an effort to share the beauty of his country with the world. The lakes are found near Al Ruwais Beach in Jalan Bani Bu Ali, which is located in the Al Sharqiya Region.

According to research by Omani geologist Dr. Mohammad Al Kindi, who is also the CEO of the Earth Sciences Consultancy Centre in Oman, the saltwater lakes owe their pink and red colours to an extremely high presence of microscopic bacterium that thrive in high salt concentrations and warm temperatures, and produce a red pigment that results in these shades of pink and red.

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Omani Halwa by Adnan Al Balushi.

Image courtesy of Adnan Al Balushi.

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Oman is known for its halwa, a sweet jelly-like dish made of sugar, corn flour, eggs, butter/oil, rosewater, saffron and cardamom that is usually served at social gatherings, religious celebrations and weddings. Some families in Oman have specialised in making halwa for generations. This photo by Adnan Al Balushi captures Yaqoob Al Amri, a member of one such family, mixing the ingredients in preparation of the Eid holiday, when demand for the dessert skyrockets.

The halwa is then poured hot into large bowls and, if properly contained, can be served for weeks.

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This photograph captures a group of Omanis performing the Malid, which is a type of religious chanting that is primarily performed in various parts of the Islamic world on the anniversary of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)’s day of birth. It is said that its origins can be traced back to 9th-century AD Sufis. During this ceremony, the Prophet is remembered and praised through poems that recount his life and his qualities.

The ceremony is usually led by a mualim, who chants. Others, sitting in two parallel rows, follow as they sway their bodies with the rhythm. A percussion instrument called al-doff is also sometimes incorporated in the performance.

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By Ali Al Ardhi

Illustration by Linda Staf.

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The hotel was okay, but nothing to write home about – a clean place to sleep after a long day. I quickly tossed my luggage in the room and left, spending no more than a minute there. I asked the receptionist where I could find a car rental office and was pleased when she said that it was about a minute’s drive from there and that, since things were a bit slow today, she’d drop me off there.

Having rented a 4×4, I took out my phone and punched in the coordinates for the area I was to investigate; it was going to be a two-hour drive, so I got some coffee and an oddly satisfying sort of bread that was large, thin and crispy and had eggs, honey and cheese in it. When in Rome…The drive to the mountainous area was quite spectacular; I drove on roads that had mountains carved out specifically for them, areas that were reminiscent of my trip across the continental US, across vast expanses of flat, desolate ground as well as mountains that were deemed too pretty to be carved, so the roads snaked up and down the mountains’ sides. At around the two-hour mark, I reached my destination, which required about a five-minute drive on loose soil. I got out and set up my equipment, wishing I were here for vacation rather than work, and began my measurements. What I was doing wasn’t exactly legal, but that’s only because politicians who were out of touch with the industry in which I work wrote the legislation, making an already difficult and tricky job more so.

I was halfway through my calibration checks when I heard a ‘Hello,’ which made me jump and almost knock over my £60,000 apparatus. I turned around, and to my surprise, there stood a little girl, with clothes and a smile that were a bit too big for someone as petite as her. I don’t like kids. I forced a smile and told her to run back home to her parents, which she acknowledged with a giggle and outright defiance to my instruction, mesmerised by my equipment. She was three years old at most, so as long as she couldn’t convey to anyone exactly what I was doing, then I wasn’t too bothered with her company, provided of course she also didn’t touch anything.

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After a couple of hours of work under the blistering sun, I was done with my measurements and the girl was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having slipped away while I was concentrating on the task at hand; I tend to block everything out when I’m working, so that wasn’t all that surprising. What was surprising, though, was the fact that there were no houses within a mile or so from where I was, and I didn’t hear any cars prior to her popping up behind me.

I packed my things and left for the second location, which was an hour or so away, according to Google Maps. As I merged onto the road, I noticed a pickup truck with three men inside. They were eyeing me intently, spiking my anxiety and twisting my stomach into a knot, but I managed to push my suspicions aside and convince myself that they were just curious as to why a tourist would be trundling along here. I focused my attention on the road and braked. Hard.

The little girl was in the middle of the road, shrieking with excitement as she saw my car come to a halt.

She must’ve thought that we were just playing, unaware of the gory fate that almost caught up to her.

‘Get out,’ said a raspy voice, inches away from my left ear, I turned and saw that it was one of the men.

This was planned. I panicked and gunned the accelerator, running over the little girl while leaving the man in the middle of the road, at a loss over as to what to do. I kept driving at my car’s highest speed for a few minutes, but saw that they weren’t chasing me. I decided to head home and finish the rest of the job some other day; my employer wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. I couldn’t tell if those were thugs or undercover police, but I hoped it was the former so I wouldn’t have to contend with the police chasing me for murder charges on top of my illegal activities.

I stopped by a river located no more than half an hour from the rental place and washed away all of the bloody chunks from the car’s fascia and undercarriage. It’s a good thing I hate kids.

I picked up my things from the hotel, checked out, and then dropped the car at the rental place and took a taxi to the airport; my plan was to get the earliest flight out of the country. Luckily, there was a flight to Dubai within an hour. I bought the ticket and checked my luggage. Nobody was giving me a second glance. It looked like I was in luck, and that those men were probably thugs nobody cared about.

I got to my seat on the plane and watched outside for any police cars nearby, but none were around. I took out my phone and called my boss to explain my situation, and as I lifted the phone to my ear, someone sat next to me and nudged my shoulder. I looked over at them.

It was the girl.

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By Ammar Al Naaimi

Debt

Illustration by Shaima Al Alawi.

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Now the 22 year old was stuck in a blackness that stretched wide over the horizon. She was left alone with her thoughts. Was she blind? Knocked out?

Dead? She hadn’t heard Munkar and Nakir, the twin angels who interrogated people within the grave with questions about whom they had prayed to and what actions had marked their lifespan, so Fatma assumed she was still miraculously alive. However, it was just her and the darkness for now, and so she waited impatiently for something – anything, really – to occur.

Suddenly, two faces appeared at once, that of a thin man with a pencil-like moustache and shaggy hair, holding onto a woman who grinned with her entire face.

Slowly, a face began to intrude on the darkness, glowing against the backdrop of a screen. The face on the screen belonged to Siham, Fatma’s friend from school who had encouraged her to pursue medicine.

Suddenly, a number appeared atop Siham’s face: -50.

Negative fifty? What was that? thought Fatma.

Another number appeared, leaving Fatma stunned: -9999. Her mouth went dry. It was an impossible debt to repay, even if she were to spend her entire life working towards it. That morning, she had left her mother furious, in the midst of a senseless argument about how jealous her mother was of Aunt Noor’s daughter, who had become a doctor.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, the face disappeared. It was replaced by Hanadi from college, who had always asked Fatma’s help in understanding bio-molecular forms. Her face appeared, grinning, over a cup of tea. Another number appeared: 38.

This time the number was positive.

A few more faces shone into existence in Fatma’s darkness. People she liked, others she refused to tolerate. Eventually, the numbers made perfect sense, like a breath of crisp morning air: Fatma was seeing the consequences of her interactions. Negative numbers signified emotional debts she owed those who’d aided her along life’s uneven roads, while positive numbers glowed atop the faces of those people she’d helped during their own times of need. Fatma began to relax, seeing the faces go further back, extending steadily towards her childhood. All in all, she had been a good person. By her estimation, she was about 250 in the green, thanks to all the people she had helped in her life. Emotionally, she was not in debt. Fatma sensed that this number signified she had done well during her time on Earth.

Her face was younger than Fatma had remembered, and her stomach protruded with the obvious burdens of motherhood. It was Fatma’s parents as they must have looked 22 years ago.

Fatma had always felt inferior to her cousins, and mother’s jealous gaze had cut deep, leading to a terrible exchange of words between them. Her mother was far from perfect; Fatma knew that. Yet, the numbers spoke loud and clear. ‘Mom?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok,’ a teary voice answered, just as a bright light filled Fatma’s world, incinerating all remnants of the darkness. She opened her eyes in a white hospital room and saw her parents by her side. Even as they hugged her, Fatma couldn’t help but wonder how real her vision had been. Did she really owe so much to her parents? However, after her near-death experience, she at least felt keenly aware of the privilege that was their love.

‘Thank you for raising me,’ she said into her mother’s embrace. She wanted to somehow repay some of her debt, even though it felt like an impossible task.

Maybe… well, maybe she could try to argue less, and spend more time loving her parents instead.In response, Fatma’s mother only hugged her tighter, sobbing with the joy of seeing her daughter alive.

Her father sniffled.

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By Shamisa Alnuumani

I Will

Love Myself

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By Sura Al Muscati

Asma

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Illustration by Caracolla.

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I find myself almost sighing in wonder at the grace and dignity of this young, strong-willed child. She has the certainty and confidence of a CEO in a board room, steadily holding on to her values and worth.

I ask Asma about what her days are like, and she tells me spends them in the fields of the Al Jabal Al Akdhar roses. ‘They are in season now,’ she tells me. ‘Did you know?’ I nod and tell her that I came to her village in pursuit of the beauty of these Al Jabal Al Akdhar roses, and that my aunt and I drove here from one of the hotels in Al Jabal Al Akdhar.

My Aunt Hana, knowing my deep desire to see these beautiful rose fields everyone speaks of that I have yet to see, asks Asma if she knows how we can find one of these fields. ‘That’s easy,’ Asma says. ‘I’ll take you to our field! I go there every day.’

On our way, we stop by Asma’s parents’ house, where we meet her elderly father. He’s dressed in a vest and t-shirt and has a white checked wizar wrapped around his waist. He welcomes us to his home, inviting us for coffee and dates. We politely decline, not wanting to inconvenience him.

He instructs Asma to take us to their rose garden.

Asma leads the way with such confidence and grace that I feel speechless. At the age of six, Asma seems to possess the self-assurance and worldly knowledge of one who is certain of themselves and how they fit in the world, having come to peace with it.

She leads me to the rose garden, where she plucks a damask rose and hands it to me. ‘For you,’ she giggles.

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The roses were no longer the highlight of the trip.

Instead, meeting this young girl and being in her presence superseded my draw to the roses, allowing me to connect to my country – my people – on a deeper level.

Asma embodies the characteristics of Oman’s people: hard work, dignity, pride, hospitality, generosity and kindness.

As I leave the mountain and wave goodbye to my new little friend, I think to myself, Asma is not only the embodiment of Oman, but also our future.

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By Aisha Al Saifi

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Maher Abdulwahab ∙ Enaam Ahmed ∙ Hussein Al Abri ∙ Younis Al Akhzami ∙ Saleh Al Ameri ∙ Hussein Al Amri ∙ Estabrak Al Ansari ∙ Sarah Al Aulaqi ∙ Badriya Al Badri ∙ Safiya Al Bahlani ∙ Al Hussain Al Balushi ∙ Anas Al Balushi ∙ Bashair Al Balushi ∙ Farah Al Balushi ∙ Marwan Al Balushi ∙ Safa Al Balushi ∙ Salim Al Balushi ∙ Sarah Al Balushi ∙ Sayyid Khalid Hamad Al Busaidi ∙ Khalid Al Busaidi ∙ Younis Al Busaidi ∙ Zakia Al Busaidi ∙ Haitham Al Busafi ∙ Alaa Al Dhiyabi ∙ Muayaad Al Fanna ∙ Abdulaziz Al Farsi ∙ Qasim Al Farsi ∙ Asila Al Habsi ∙ Tariq Al Hajri ∙ Haifdh Al Harthi ∙ Jokha Al Harthi ∙ Mazin Al Harthi ∙ Muhammad Al Harthi ∙ Shamsa Al Harthi ∙ Abdulrahman Al Hinai ∙ Omaima Al Hinai ∙ Sami Al Hinai ∙ Ahmed Al Hosani ∙ Arwa Al Jahwari ∙ Hanina Al Jufaili ∙ Abdulrahim Al Kendi ∙ Mohammed Al Kindi (Chndy) ∙ Marwa Al Kalbani ∙ Abdul Rahman Al Ma’aini ∙ Rahma Al Maguzy ∙ Rawan Al Mahrouqi ∙ Ali Al Mamari ∙ Khalid Al Mamari ∙ Omar Al Maoli ∙ Sharifa Al Maruby ∙ Haneen Al Moosawi ∙ Mays Al Moosawi ∙ Alaya al Mujaini ∙ Muzna Al Musafer ∙ Majid Al Omari ∙ Hadiya Al Qasimi ∙ Zahran Al Qassemi ∙ Amna Al Rabee ∙ Mahmood Al Rahbi ∙ Mahra Al Raisi ∙ Raiya Al Rawahi ∙ Budoor Al Riyami ∙ H.H. Sayyid Bilarab Haitham Al Said ∙ H.H. Sayyida Meyyan Shihab Al Said ∙ Alla Al Saifi ∙ Salim Al Salami ∙ Khalfan Al Salhami ∙ Mahmood Al Salmi ∙ Fathiya Al Saqri ∙ Haitham Al Shanfari ∙ Ali Al Sharji ∙ Badria Al Shihhi ∙ Zaher Al Siyabi ∙ Abdulaziz Al Shukairi ∙ Rayan Al Sulaimani ∙ Abdulla Al Taie ∙ Sama Issa Al Taie ∙ Hafsa Al Tamimi ∙ Ahmed Al Toqi ∙ Rashad Al Wahaibi ∙ Khalid Al Zadjali ∙ Nof Al Zadjali ∙ Riham Al Zadjali ∙ Saleh Al Zadjali ∙ Omar Al Zadjali ∙ Farah Asqul ∙ Nabaa Baqir ∙ Huda Hamad ∙ Mahmood Harib ∙ Radika Kimji Ruqaiya Mazar ∙ Muzn Meer ∙ Mahmood Noah ∙ Nouf Rashid ∙ Salim Sawakhroon Firdaus Shafi ∙ Tanya Shamil ∙ Anwar Sonya ∙ Mohammed Qaratas ∙ Aya Yousuf

A group of Omani talents are taking the Arab world's creative scene by a storm.

Are you ready to meet the creative giants?