Dalal Al-Obaidi paints from the space between moments; where memory hasn’t fully settled, and reality hasn’t quite moved on. A contemporary Kuwaiti visual artist, her practice moves through nostalgia, identity, and time, transforming fleeting encounters into layered, emotionally charged compositions. Her works feel half-remembered, half-performed: grainy textures echo old television screens, colors linger like afterimages, and figures seem caught mid-thought, mid-drift.
In this conversation, Dalal speaks to KHAMSA about “living future memories,” using method acting as a tool for reflection rather than transformation, and why she sees her role as an artist as one of reporting rather than explaining. From childhood static on Kuwait Television to colors that haunt her years before revealing their source, her work unfolds as an archive of moments felt deeply but never fully held.
This Creative Talk is an invitation into Dalal’s in-between, a place where memory bends, presence slips, and art becomes a way of saving what would otherwise disappear.
All images are courtesy of Dalal Al-Obaidi.
١. When you’re working, how do you know a memory is ready to be translated into an image?
I know a memory is ready to be translated into a visual output in the very moment it’s being lived. A conversation, a friend, or even a stranger can trigger something, and I immediately get the sense that this moment will reappear in my studio as an artwork, reimagined by the time that has passed.
I describe it as living a ‘future memory.’
It must carry a certain weight, something I feel the need to save and archive yet also release. At the same time, some of my work draws from a deeper past, like my childhood, resurfacing through these present-day triggers.
٢. Has there ever been a character or moment you couldn’t fully inhabit, no matter how hard you tried?
It’s one approach among many in my work. I enjoy moving between stages of reflection – who I am – and performance – who I can momentarily become.
I never fully inhabit any of the characters I explore. Even when I dress the part, enter their spaces, or play their sport, it remains a performance – an act. When people start to slightly believe it, that’s when I eventually start to pull back. This is the point where it begins to feel like I’m occupying something that isn’t really mine, and that feels morally unsettling to me.
I’ll never be an expert in jazz or be this cool professional pool player and that feeling of having to step away later becomes the material I translate into some of my pieces.
٣. What’s one everyday detail from your childhood that keeps resurfacing in your visuals, even when you’re not consciously reaching for it?
The graininess and static of an old TV screen keep returning even when I’m not consciously reaching for them. I think it stems from watching television constantly as a child, especially the programmes on Kuwait Television.
Even in works that aren’t about that topic, the texture of those old screens appears consistently throughout my work. It acts as a filter layered over the images I create, with the white scratches symbolizing that detail.
٤. If you could freeze one fleeting feeling—just to study it longer—what would it be?
If I could freeze one fleeting feeling, it would be that quick moment when I luckily feel present – emotionally or mentally. My work naturally lies in the in-between, and that state constantly follows me.
What tends to always slip away is the feeling of being held in one moment, without drifting into memory or another time.
I wish I could pause that feeling and understand what it’s like to be in one place, at one time, fully present.
٥. Is there a boundary you’re still hesitant to cross in your work?
I’ve been completely honest and truthful with what I have put out so far. I’ve never really felt hesitant with the themes I explore or want to explore in my art. When my work seems to cross boundaries, it’s only because I made a choice early on – that my role as an artist is to report. Once I receive the imaginings that come to me, it is my duty to share them truthfully.
٦. Your palette feels like memory dust. Do these colors choose you, or do you chase them? And has a color ever forced you to revisit a memory you weren’t expecting?
Both. Sometimes the colors choose me, like when I’m walking around old buildings in Kuwait or coming across faded posters plastered on walls. All those dusty pinks and blues, and worn-out hues follow and stay with me.
Other times, a color from my memory suddenly surfaces and I end up chasing it, trying to understand why.
For example, a dark royal green haunted me for years. It took a long time to realize it came from a family relative’s home I visited as a child and I still can’t remember if it was the walls or the carpets, but the entire house felt green to me. That color stayed with me long before I knew why.
