Artwork Description:

My work begins with the slow and tactile process of hand embroidery. Each stitch is made patiently on cotton fabric using thread, pen, pencil, and small found tools. The movement of the needle follows my breathing and my inner rhythm. Through this quiet process, marks appear on the surface like fragments of writing or traces of thought. The stitches do not form readable words, but they carry the feeling of language, memory, and silence.

These embroideries were originally intended to be shown as physical works where the viewer could sense the raised threads, the tension of the fabric, and the intimacy of the hand. However, due to the sudden outbreak of war in the Middle East and the suspension of flights, it became impossible for the works to travel with me. As a result, the embroideries are presented here as photographic prints.

This shift from stitched surface to printed image introduces a distance between the hand and the viewer. The tactile quality of thread is transformed into a visual memory of touch. In this way, the works reflect interruption, displacement, and the fragile movement of images across borders when bodies and objects cannot travel. The thread becomes a quiet witness to absence, while still carrying the presence of the hand that made it.

Could you start by giving us a brief introduction to your practice?


My practice comes from my lived experience of hearing loss, where sound and silence exist together in complex ways. I work through drawing, writing, and embroidery to explore this relationship. My work is not about clear representation, but about sensing and how silence can feel loud, and how sound can be distant, fragmented, or incomplete. Through slow processes, I try to give form to what cannot fully be heard or spoken. Because of my hearing loss, I experience the world visually and internally, so my work often reflects quietness, absence, and what cannot be spoken.

Your visual language explores themes of silence, memory and fragmented communication influenced by your personal experience with hearing loss. Can you walk us through the methods you use to translate these complex themes through a visual narrative?

My method is intuitive and layered. I begin with a feeling and often a memory or a quiet moment, and then I translate it through repeated marks or stitches. Like in my story of the garden, where sound felt distant and unclear, I work with that same sense of incompleteness. I use fragmentation, empty spaces, and interruptions to reflect how I experience sound. My work is not fixed; it remains open, like memory itself.

Storytelling seems to play a significant role in your artistic practice. Can you describe how the stories you write are woven into your artworks?


My stories come from personal experiences, like the garden I described where I used to walk. These stories are not illustrated directly, but they guide the work. The mango, the lone honeybee, the quiet searching, the lone squirrel:  these become emotional anchors. I used them as a metaphor for my hearing, as I listen to one person rather than many. I write what I feel, even if it is incomplete, and then I translate that into marks and stitches. The story lives within the work, even if it is not fully visible.

During the residency, you created a body of work using embroidery, where every stitch carries significant meaning. What is the intended message behind this collection?

Embroidery became a way of writing without words. Each stitch carries time, care, and hesitation. My stitches are not perfect; they are broken, knotted, and fragmented, like my voice. This work speaks about the impossibility of complete expression. It holds silence, but also the weight of sound within it. It is about trying to mend something that cannot be fully repaired.

Can you share an example of how you and your fellow artists inspired or learned from each other during the collaborative process of the residency?


During the residency, I learned through quiet observation and shared presence. I rely on captions, as they make it easier for me to understand. Listening to others speak about their work, even in different ways, helped me reflect on my own process. There was a subtle exchange of ideas not always through words, but through making and being together.

In the exhibition, you paired three embroidery artworks and a sound installation. What message do you hope to convey with this design? What do you hope people understand when they experience your work?

The pairing creates a dialogue between what is heard and what is felt. My embroidery holds silence, while the sound installation introduces presence. Together, they create a tension that reflects my own experience. I want viewers to experience the same sensation, when people speak, and I cannot fully understand. In the audio, I speak in Urdu, while the viewer speaks English. I want viewers to feel this space between clarity and fragmentation, and to listen in a deeper, more attentive way.

These embroideries were originally intended to be shown as physical works; however, due to the sudden outbreak of war in the Middle East and the suspension of flights, the works were presented as prints. How did this affect the conceptual thread behind the work?

This shift added another layer of distance and fragmentation. Just like in my story, where sound does not fully reach, the absence of the original material echoed that same feeling. The work became about separation and loss, but also about adapting and continuing. It remained true to my themes.

Your approach to art is deeply personal but also reflects on very universal themes of displacement and memory. How do you see art within contemporary narratives?


I believe deeply personal experiences can open into shared understanding. Themes of loss, displacement, and memory are part of our time. Art allows us to feel these experiences beyond language. It creates space for what cannot be fully explained, only sensed.

If you could give one piece of advice to future participants of this programme, what would it be?

Trust your own way of sensing the world. Do not worry about perfection or completeness. Even broken and fragmented expressions carry truth. Take your time, be patient, and allow your work to grow slowly. Imperfection is beautiful.

Find more about the artist here.

Cover image:

Synthetic thread on cotton fabric with pen, pencil and stick 53x56 cm. Image courtesy of the artist.