Profile 3


merge into one. Te reason why I continue working with textiles is the malleability, the temporality, and the site specificity they offer: I can take them anywhere, fold them up, and reconfigure them somewhere else. Obviously, there are certain crafts and works I do in Cairo that I cannot do in London, like my present project involving a process of appliqué called khayamiya, an Egyptian style of embroidery. Cairo provides more affordable possibilities for craftsmanship and collaborations than London. In addition, there are certain techniques and designs that are contextually based in Cairo, a skill that no craftsman in London has because it is not rooted in that tradition.


AAN: You rely on local craftsmen wherever you work. Are you avoiding technology? NJ: Te thing with technology, the advancements of AI and all these new developments, is that time is not a factor. Time has no agency, whereas for craftsmen, time is everything. You need to take the time to construct something – one step at a time with your hands – and that is precisely why I love textiles. Tey carry a different sense of time with a subjective experience that is based on culture and history rather than just a blind idea of what the future might look like.


AAN: It seems difficult to anchor your work to a timeline as it blends the past, the present, and the future. Would you agree? NJ: I am very interested in deconstructing time and space by activating the past in our memories. More specifically, it is about mourning a loss or a change in a landscape but doing it in the present moment. Te French philosopher Jacques Derrida (1930-2004) referred to it by developing the concept of ‘hauntology’, explaining how the past could still haunt the present. Basically, you are mourning the past while also activating it in the present, which is what intrigues me. I want to deconstruct time in a way that activates our consciousness, making us aware of what has happened to learn from it. To me, that is a form of active mourning. In addition, Islamic art and Islamic


philosophy represent an important reference for me. In Islamic architecture, for example, there is a flatness in the composition, which is about timelessness and spacelessness: how do we depict the divine, something that is beyond our time and beyond our conception of time? I find flat compositions with no defined subjects or objects, no background, or foreground captivating. In my practice, I am deconstructing narrative-based compositions where there are a beginning and an end. I like the fact that everything is connected to each other. Working with textiles and embroidery, my narrative can be more open-ended as opposed to the medium of painting, which is more defined.


AAN: You started your art curriculum studying painting. What was missing in painting that encouraged you to move towards another medium? NJ: I did not connect with the immediacy of painting, as I was more interested in its texture and surface than in the painting itself. To me, painting was very image-based, and I considered it as an object, which then also led me to see colour as a physical form. I had no desire in creating narrative, as I was more


Roots in the Sky (2024), dyed fabric, steel, 250 x 300 cm


If the olive trees knew (2024), dyed fabric, steel, 250 x 300 cm


Fold up the prayer mat in your flight (2021), fabric dye, pigment and acrylic on canvas, rebar steel, 270 x 150 cm


I am very interested in


deconstructing time and space


drawn towards a feeling or an experience. In my opinion, painting is often about creating an image or a moment, whereas, to me, it was an object in a room and in a space. In a nutshell, I was attracted to the physicality of art-making and colour, rather than the image on the surface. As I started painting, I was relying


on washes, diluting my paints into liquid to see how the fabric would absorb the paint. I started dyeing my fabric without even using dye, following the way the fabric reacted to colour rather than the colour itself on a surface. Tis drew me to textiles and encouraged me to look at the painting as a piece of canvas and not as an image. It was about exploring the materiality and physicality of colour and fabric rather than the actual image. My approach is probably also influenced by my obsession with architecture, it is not about creating space, but about how we occupy it.


AAN: With colour playing such an important role in your practice, how do you relate to it? NJ: For me, colour is a response to the spaces I inhabit, the cultural and


social contexts by which I am surrounded. Most of the hues and intensity of the colours I use are very specific to my upbringing. Te colours are sourced from natural and synthetic pigments from Cairo, echoing its landscape and spaces. In a way, my work is a physical, spiritual, and aesthetic manifestation of the space I am in, going beyond its simple depiction. Te spiritual aspect, for example, is


based on my belief in the emotional and spiritual power of colour that transcends language. Tere is more to colour than a depiction or an aesthetic tool, there is something quite powerful in its character. To me, it has a social, political, and cultural agency, as it depicts time, space, and the memories that you make. I also approach colour as a physical


object that has its own biography. In my case, it stems from Cairo’s landscapes. Te colours cover a broad span – some are made from herbs that come with distinctive aromas, and some are synthetic, shipped from China. I am using the pigments that I can source within the context I am in, which generally is Cairo. I then observe how the different fabrics react to the colours, as there is a lot of unpredictability. Over time, I came to realise that when working with colour, you must give it its own time and space to activate its power. When, for example, I dye fabrics in the tub, leaving them to sit for a while, they develop and change, a process I do not control. I can activate the process, but then I need to let go, with the element of unpredictability taking over.


AAN: Do you continue to do the dyeing yourself? NJ: It is the one element that I cannot let anyone else do for me, because it is so specific. It is my way of translating my thoughts and feelings beyond words and spaces. Depending on where you are, what mood you are in, the space, and the cultural context, it has a different temperature. I cannot let anyone be a part of that process during the making of the work, even more so as it represents a huge part of


the labour involved in my practice. In addition, I use a specific process


where the fabric is half-primed (it is primed on one side, but not the other). When immersing the fabric in water, it curls up, resulting in subsequent labour-intensive ironing. Te main element in the dyeing process is time, followed by the physical labour of ironing and sewing.


AAN: From where do you source your textiles? NJ: Tey come from the many wonderful textile markets in Cairo. When travelling, I can sometimes source them too, as I like to mix and collage different forms of textiles using various linens and cottons. Generally, however, they are all sourced from Cairo as it is cheaper, especially for very large projects.


AAN: Do you let the material guide you towards the final piece, or do you prepare the major steps through sketches? NJ: As such, there is no conceptual planning or sketches. Te material and the colours definitely guide me, the same way the space and the context guide the composition. Te concept and the idea just form themselves within the process, which is slow, tangled, and very


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The Light In between (2024), fabric dye and pigment on canvas, steel, 130 x 235 cm ASIAN ART | OCTOBER 2025


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