4 Profile


The shadow of every tree (2024), dyed fabric, steel gate and concrete installation with grey fabric walls, 280 x 470 cm, steel gate 520 x 230 cm, concrete 63 x 40 x 4 cm


labour-intensive. Te process not only defines the concept but also the composition and beyond. Time is probably the most valuable resource in my practice because it allows for the labour and the process to happen.


AAN: When you refer to time, is it about both memories that you are trying to hold on to as well as memories that you are trying to get back? NJ: It is in that space between both – it is an acceptance of what has gone, while also being active and learning from the past to form what is to come. My work is formed in fragments, with the remaining fragments of my previous pieces making their way to the next one. I therefore have a recycling process in my work that is both physical and mental, based on memories. It emphasises the idea that we are in a constant process of making and becoming, with our memories always forming themselves. Memories are not rooted in the past, as they also exist in the present. It is just a very different sense of time. For example, the studio space is sacred because it is a place that resists time. Tat is why I believe that the process is what drives the work more than an idea or a concept. It is where the memories come out and the colours form themselves. In addition, a lot of the subconscious process happens without thought. It is a very different type of intuition than that used in painting, for example, because painting is immediate, whereas my process is based on a slow form of intuition. I am more driven by the sense of time in textiles rather than the sense of immediacy in painting.


AAN: Some of your work also involves steel structures. Considering your interest in architecture, is that an avenue you would like to pursue and investigate further? NJ: Te steel in my work is clearly influenced by Cairo’s architecture. I am creating structures that inhabit a space, allowing the textiles to be in context. Te steel structures are inspired by doors, gates, and windows – all these liminal spaces in Cairo that are usually intricately made, as they are all about ornament. However, they are also a divisive device, setting the internal and external space apart. I was therefore interested in deconstructing and then creating a space using architecture and not just textiles. For my Art Basel installation in 2024, I chose a gate, whereas for previous installations there were archways and


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Cement, on the contrary, has a very immediate sense of time: you make your traces and marks on it and then it just solidifies. I love that. Cement is also a reflection of urban spaces and all these languages that I want to integrate in my work. I plan to continue working with the medium as I like its qualities: how neutral it is and how quickly it dries, even though it is very dusty and bad for my lungs. Within my process, I usually carve it right before it dries and I appreciate that immediacy, even more so as my textiles take me months. Another project I want to explore is


Where the fig tree cannot be fenced (2023), detail, multi-component installation artwork, fabric dye and pigment on canvas, steel, cement and ceramic, dimensions variable


working with ceramics. I have always been interested in the medium, which requires proper training since it is quite scientific when it comes to the way you use the kiln and the glazes you choose with which to work.


The steel in my work is clearly influenced by Cairo’s


architecture


doors. Tey often come from found objects that I deconstruct and re-weld, resulting in a kind of assemblage, or sculpture, following some restructuring. Te steel structures echo Cairo’s architectural and urban spaces, bringing together in one place different forms of architecture: Islamic, Ottoman, and ancient civilisations. Tis undeniably formed the way I construct space. Going forward, beyond relying on steel, I plan on further investigating bronze, which is a new material for me. It involves a very different process from steel, which is cheap and easy to deal with, whereas bronze is monumental and expensive.


AAN: What about cement? Is that a material you would like to continue working with while moving forward? NJ: I love using cement because of how stubborn and rigid the material is. It is very time-based, so once it freezes and dries, there is nothing you can do about it. It is therefore very different from my textile practice, which is malleable and comes with an endless sense of time.


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AAN: Your work is built on various layers of fabrics. When do you consider a piece to be finished? NJ: I honestly do not think a piece is ever finished. However, if the piece is in the studio, it is continuous and will never end. I think the works are rather in a constant form of becoming, as they do not stay still or freeze. Te moment the work leaves the studio, it becomes eponymous, and it is no longer a part of me or my practice. It needs to be placed in a different context to breathe new life.


AAN: A recurrent discussion in your work is a conjunction with other artists using textiles, such as Sheila Hicks (b 1934) and Faith Ringgold (1930-2024). Do you agree with this approach? NJ: Both Sheila Hicks and Faith Ringgold are amazing artists, and I looked at their pieces during my time as a student. I truly connect with the physicality and the materiality of their work, as well as the relationship to the body. In my opinion, Sheila Hicks transformed the way we see textiles, using the fibre medium in a sculptural way that is revolutionary. Even though we share some similarities in the process and in the approach to the material, the source is quite different, as in my case, a lot stems from Islamic Middle-Eastern architecture. Nevertheless, these artists have been a major inspiration, as well as others that are not necessarily textile artists.


AAN: Have there been any influential figures in terms of process, approach, or mindset, even if they are not visible in your work? NJ: When it comes to colour, for example, the American abstract expressionists like Rothko (1903-


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1970) or Clyfford Still (1904-1980) have been paramount. I am obsessed with Rothko. I love his work, its spiritual power combined with that kind of flatness in the composition, but also the infinite timelessness that he portrays. When I see his painting, I just get absorbed into it as it carries this divine drama and spirituality that is so beautiful. He is a great source of inspiration, and beyond Rothko, I admire the Lebanese artist Saloua Raouda Choucair (1916-2017), Wael Shawky (b 1971) from Egypt, as well as Annie Albers (1899-1994) and the way she spoke about textiles and craft. She is a major influence in placing craftsmanship within contemporary art, and I am very interested in the way she conceptualised her craft. In addition, there is Mona Hatoum (b 1952), with the political charge and abject nature of her work. I like the fact that her work is quite uncomfortable and that she shows bold courage in her practice. Beyond these artists, I would mention architecture, especially the Egyptian Hassan Fathy (1900-1989), who was one of the founders of the idea of vernacular architecture. His work is about creating buildings using the actual landscape while also underlining sustainability. Tis echoes the idea that we use these buildings similarly to a landscape, as we are not meant to stay on the planet forever. Another Egyptian architect, whose undertakings I follow closely, is Abdel-Wahed El-Wakil (b 1943). He uses nature as well as unsustainable materials to create temporary structures such as spiritual spaces, domes, and mosques, all in handmade mud-bricks. In addition, I look at nomadic themes such as tent makers, weavers, and Persian rugs in Cairo. Basically, a lot of my inspiration comes from craftsmanship – not just contemporary artists or painters.


AAN: As you indicated, Mona Hatoum’s work is intriguing as it is politically charged. Would you consider your own work to be politically charged? NJ: To be honest, I think all forms of making are political. I think anything authentic that you make is political. Anything that occupies real space, real time, and is a response to the present moment is political. I believe that the personal is political with a lot of my work tackling personal and collective memories, as the two cannot be separated. Having a practice and making work that occupies real space in real time is a statement. Even when you are saying nothing, you are saying something. Te work is autonomous from us artists and has its own purpose. In this sense, my work is making a statement that responds to the social and cultural context that I occupy.


AAN: The nature of a statement can be quite challenging. How do you see it? NJ: I do not think you need to be loud to say something. Tings can be said in so many ways with the whole purpose of art being to transcend language and politics. It is not about making a statement, being loud, or outrageous, it is about being present and being authentic. I believe that if you are honest with your craft and your making, it does not matter what you are saying because something will transpire. You do not need to be bold or create something shocking for it to be meaningful. Even the most silent and subtle work can be just as powerful. Today, handmade, personal, and labour-intensive work has become increasingly important, because there is a move towards everything needing to be fast. Due to this over-construction, over-


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development, and speed in the advancement of technology, time has become a privilege. Artists who use time in their process are rare and few. Tis is even more important as it is something we are all lacking, or we do not see much of anymore.


AAN: Does this make art an oasis that can initiate a meaningful dialogue? NJ: To me, what makes art so unique is that regardless of what is happening in the world, where you are from, or what your upbringing is, we can nearly all relate to art and understand it. It has this universal power to transcend politics, ideologies, the chaos and all the noise.


AAN: This seems all the more true today, where we tend to have several existences within one lifetime, involving various relocations, jobs, and structures. NJ: Absolutely. It is a whole new way of understanding our identity. If I just take the example of my own circle in London, everyone is from somewhere else, with a completely different upbringing or cultural background, but we are all in the same city chasing something. Te new normal is in multiple spaces, carrying different histories and memories. In my opinion, it is important for us to embrace that. We also need to realise that our understanding of time and space does shift – based on where we are. Tat unquestionably forms my practice. It is an invaluable cultural experience to leave where you think you are rooted, which leads you to create roots somewhere else. You then understand that your whole upbringing does not define you. Interestingly, no matter where I go,


my identity and memory feel more vibrant, the idea being that when you are far away from something, you see it more clearly. My understanding of my own history and upbringing, as well as my relationship to home are more present than ever when I am not in it. Being far away from it, you start to understand and construct it more, with your relationship to it becoming more active. Many people share that feeling when travelling, they become more attached to their identities because it is no longer there next to them. London is a fabulous place, but so many people miss ‘home’, and yet they do not know how to leave. It is this tension of wanting to pursue something but being unable to go back. Tere is undeniably a shift of being in these two mental spaces and dealing with this liminal space. Tese feelings have now become common.


AAN: The titles of your pieces sound intriguing. What influences them? NJ: A lot of my titles come from poetry. Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) is an important reference, together with the Egyptian writer Naguib Mahfouz (1911-2006). In addition, a lot of the words come from mistranslations or Arabic sayings that have been deconstructed. Te Arabic language is so poetic, descriptive, and visual, which helps me to use words and translate some of them that are untranslatable in English. Te space in between two languages is where I get my ideas for the titles. Tey are also inspired by the deconstruction of words, forms, or language. Poetry can transcend rationality and language. It does not need to make sense in one language: it is the feeling the poem emits that is most important rather than saying something specific.


AAN: That takes us back to when you were quoted as saying ‘art is what cannot be expressed in words’. NJ: To be honest, I find it extremely difficult to title my works. As I am not


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