Born in 1973 in Khamis Mushait, Abdulnasser Gharem graduated from King Abdulaziz Academy and The Leader Institute in Riyadh. In 2003 he studied at Al-Meftaha Arts Village, later co-founding Edge of Arabia with Stephen Stapleton and Ahmed Mater, creating a global platform for cultural dialogue. Gharem has exhibited at Martin Gropius-Bau, LACMA, the British Museum, V&A, and major biennales including Venice and Sharjah. His monograph Art of Survival was published in 2011. In 2013, Gharem founded Gharem Studio in Riyadh, offering a space for emerging Saudi artists and becoming a catalyst for the Kingdom’s contemporary art movement. @abdulnassergharem/
Where were you born and raised? How did it influence your art and your thinking about the world? I was born and raised in the south of Saudi Arabia, near the border with Yemen, an area with deep agricultural and cultural roots. Unlike the common image of Saudis as desert Bedouins, most people in my region are farmers. Growing up in a farming family shaped my worldview and my art profoundly. I witnessed the patience and dedication of the farmers waiting for the rain, understanding its timing, and viewing the harvest as the land’s reward for their care. This taught me patience and respect for nature’s cycles. My village, which is over three thousand years old, is built from stone with barns under the houses for animals, reflecting a way of life where humans and creatures coexist closely. Although I now live in Riyadh, my art and life remain grounded in these ancient values and the strong, communal culture of my home region, where individuality often yields to the collective identity of the tribe.
Your early passion for art developed under difficult circumstances. What drew you to art, and how did you navigate the resistance you encountered? I first fell in love with art in middle school, despite the fact that being an artist was considered a moral scandal in the south of Saudi Arabia at the time. My Egyptian art teacher played a pivotal role in this journey. He persistently encouraged me, even visiting my family to convince them to support my talent. Although I felt ashamed and kept my passion hidden from my friends, I eventually gained recognition at age 13 when I won an art competition at my school. Through this teacher, I also learned about the history of art and, most importantly, that art could be a powerful way to express personal opinions. This realization captivated me and taught me an essential truth: no one can stop you from thinking in private. For me, the importance of art lies in its ability to give voice to thoughts and ideas, especially in societies where open expression can be restricted.
Your studio in Riyadh sounds like a dynamic place—part think tank, part creative lab. What does a typical day look like for you there?
I’m usually the first to arrive at the studio early in the morning, which gives me time to read in the studio library for at least two hours each day. After that, I check emails and begin engaging with the flow of the day.
The studio is often a dynamic environment where I work with a range of people from different disciplines, some regularly and others as needed. On any given day, you might find me sketching initial concepts for a sculpture or collaborating with specialists on a project related to algae or exploring ideas connected to biology and artificial intelligence.
Each day in the studio is a world of its own, filled with experimentation, discovery, and building new relationships across diverse fields. We also host lectures and artistic workshops, and sometimes musical groups rehearse here. The studio serves as a meeting point, a space where thinkers gather, and where emerging artists can engage directly with established artists, curators, and museum professionals who often visit.
The Healthy Sin (Aniconism) is a deeply personal and politically resonant project. What compelled you to revisit the taboo around figuration in Islamic culture? Yes, I’m currently working on a project titled The Healthy Sin (Aniconism), which has been invited for production by the Vienna Academy. This work addresses my personal and cultural journey navigating the strict religious and social prohibitions against depicting ensouled beings in Saudi Arabia. It explores the complex tension between faith, state control, and artistic expression that has shaped my life and practice.
The project consists of a multi-layered installation combining video, sound, and painting. It documents my early experience as a child instructed to deface illustrations in schoolbooks, the silent conflict between government modernization and religious conservatism, and my later act of resistance by organizing a covert live drawing session using a disassembled and smuggled mannequin.
Thematically, the work reflects on censorship, social control, and the psychological conflict artists experience when their practice is considered forbidden. It also highlights the artist’s role as a catalyst for cultural change, especially in societies that have rapidly transitioned from traditional to contemporary frameworks without a gradual phase of modernity. The project has become my “beautiful excuse” to return to painting as a critical commentary on the complexities of our current cultural renaissance.
When someone encounters your work, what kind of emotional or intellectual response are you hoping to provoke? I hope people experience a moment of reflection and are confronted with realities they might otherwise prefer to avoid. My work addresses social changes and highlights blind spots at inconvenient moments that cannot be ignored. I deliberately present many visual cues dots that the viewers must connect for themselves, drawing conclusions based on their own experiences and knowledge. What I aim to express is that the meaning of the artwork does not come solely from me as the creator, but from the interpretation and understanding of the viewer. It is this interaction, this requirement for visual epistemological engagement, that completes the artwork.
Which artists, living or historical, would you like to meet? I would like to meet artists who possess high mental energy and the ability to change the course of art history. I admire those who moved fluidly from one stage of their practice to another without being restricted by conventions. Sol LeWitt is a prime example of this kind of artist, whose conceptual approach and flexibility continue to inspire me.
Do you draw inspiration from music, art, or other disciplines?
I draw inspiration from the gracefulness of everyday and ordinary events, both in my military and daily life. In addition, reading philosophy has been a significant source of inspiration, shaping the way I think about and approach my art.
You’ve seen Riyadh—and Saudi Arabia—undergo enormous cultural change. What excites you most about being based there now, especially in light of your work with emerging artists through Gharem Studio? A great thing about living in my city, Riyadh, is witnessing and being part of the remarkable transformation taking place in Saudi Arabia. My response may differ here, as we are in a different geographical setting, and we live in Riyadh and Saudi Arabia at a time that is markedly different from the recent past. There was a time when strict religious oversight governed nearly every aspect of public life, but today, everything has changed. Since 2017, reforms have opened up many aspects of public life, including the introduction of music education and sports for girls in schools. There has been significant progress in women’s rights and a renewed vitality brought by the Vision 2030 initiative, which has advanced both social and economic development. It feels like the long-awaited enlightenment has begun from within.
Can you describe a project that challenged you creatively or emotionally—and how you worked through it? One project that challenged me both creatively and emotionally was The Arts Tower, a landmark of the Sports Boulevard project in Riyadh. The tower stands at 83.5 meters tall with a 33 meter square footprint at its base and features a vibrant facade composed of 691 colored panels. It was my first time working at such a scale and height for an artwork, and my first experience collaborating with so many companies and specialists responsible for the design and realization of the project. During the process, we faced a significant challenge from the wind, which forced us to rethink the number and distribution of the slices not only for structural safety but to let the tower breathe. It taught me that no project should resist nature; instead, we must show humility and adapt. This was not merely a technical adjustment but a dialogue with the air, with life, and with our human limitations. By leaving space between the slices, the tower became a living, ever changing structure rather than a rigid form. It was a lesson in patience, flexibility, and creative partnership with nature.
Mentorship and collaboration seem central to your journey—from Al-Meftaha to Edge of Arabia to Gharem Studio. Who have been some of the most important people in your creative life, and what have they taught you?
My career has never been a solo pursuit. Anyone who reads my biography will see that it is built on a foundation of friendships, mentors, and collaborators who believed in the transformative power of art and community. From early guidance at Al Meftaha Arts Village with artists like Abdulhalim Radwi and Mohammed Alsaleem, to co-founding the Shatta collective and Edge of Arabia with Ahmed Mater and Stephen Stapleton, each step has been rooted in shared vision and support. Gharem Studio continues this spirit offering a space for artists to grow, connect, and engage with the world.
Environmental awareness is a recurring theme in your work. Can you share a moment from nature that deeply affected you—and perhaps shifted the way you see your role as an artist?
One of my most meaningful works, Flora & Fauna (2007), was directly inspired by my deep connection to the natural world and my concern for the environmental balance of my region. The work was a form of advocacy for the trees and ecosystem of my homeland. It reflected my belief that nature has its own way of stabilizing itself and that human intervention, often driven by selfishness or aesthetics, tends to disturb this equilibrium. My experience with the invasive introduction of Conocarpus Erectus in Saudi Arabia, which initially provided greenery but ultimately damaged the native environment and infrastructure, drove me to create a performance piece as a form of public protest and social engagement. I stood on the main road for six hours each day, enveloped with the tree in transparent plastic sheets under the harsh sun, to spark a conversation in a society where civilian expression was severely restricted. Remarkably, in 2020, after thirteen years, Saudi Arabia finally placed a ban on planting this tree. Being in nature has always inspired my work and process; it reminds me of the delicate balance and interconnectedness of all living things and the responsibility we have to respect and protect that balance. Nature continues to be a powerful source of reflection and artistic motivation for me.
AI is changing everything - the way we see the world, creativity, art, our ideas of beauty and the way we communicate with each other and our imaginations. As someone who values the tactile, experiential side of making art, how do you see technology’s place in the creative process today? Artists are often the first to embrace new technologies, using them to question rather than just create. AI can generate images, sounds, and text, but it lacks memory, fear, joy, and lived experience. I come from a hands-on world, where art means digging into the earth, standing under the sun, and wrestling with time and error. Machines can assist, but they do not feel silence or ask why. They only ask how. For me, art begins with the why. AI is not the end of creativity; it is the start of new questions. I do not mind stepping back and editing what AI proposes, as long as my voice remains.
Exploring ideas, art, and the creative process connects me to… Commitment. The difference between commitment and obligation is subtle but important. Commitment comes from within; it reflects a personal choice or dedication to a cause, purpose, or relationship. It is fueled by passion, belief, and a sense of voluntary responsibility. Obligation, on the other hand, is externally imposed. It arises from duty, rules, laws, or expectations set by others. Where commitment is a self-directed promise, obligation is a requirement, often independent of personal desire or motivation.
