In Areen’s world, a seam ripper is a philosophy and a tool. The Palestinian textile artist, now based in Dubai, unravels fabrics to reimagine tradition, constructing layered landscapes that move between memory and material, identity and abstraction. Her work challenges static notions of Arab visual culture by turning thread into metaphor, and embroidery into living language. Through installations, garments, and conceptual designs, Areen honors the past yet she distorts it, expands it, and lets it breathe forward.
From her early experiments in London and Stockholm to solo exhibitions in Bahrain and Dubai, Areen’s practice is global, but never untethered. Her textile works pulse with rootedness, resilience, and transformation.
Areen is a Palestinian textile artist based in Dubai. A graduate in Textile Design and Art (2018), she has trained with studios like Mirjam Rouden in London and H&M in Stockholm. Her work bridges craft and concept, weaving ancestral techniques like embroidery into contemporary, often multimedia forms. With exhibitions across Europe, the Arab world, and North America, Areen’s practice explores identity, memory, and transformation through layered textile compositions. She was awarded the Justus Brinckmann Prize (MKG Hamburg, 2019), shortlisted for the Doha Design Prize (2024), and selected for Maison&Objet (2025) under Dubai Culture’s Cultural Grants Programme. Her solo shows include By Areen in Manama and The Mother Thread in Dubai.
All images are courtesy of Areen.
In this conversation, she speaks to KHAMSA about storytelling through fabric, navigating the space between art and design, and why thread remains her most powerful symbol:
١. Your work moves between tradition and technology, the personal and the collective. How do you balance honoring ancestral techniques like embroidery while pushing them into a contemporary, even futuristic, space?
For me, tradition reflects the roots of identity, culture, history, and the connection between past, present, and future. It’s alive. My Palestinian heritage is deeply woven into my artistic practice. Embroidery and textile traditions from Palestine have always been a source of reference. These forms carry generations of cultural memory, resilience, and identity, passed down through threads and motifs. I see textiles as a metaphor for identity — threads that come together, overlap, unravel, and evolve.
Palestinian embroidery, in particular, functions as a visual language that encodes narratives and symbolism. From it, I’ve learned how to construct storylines through form — how to embed layers of meaning into patterns. Storytelling is central to Palestinian culture, and narrative plays a vital role in my work. While I draw deeply from traditional embroidery, I do not replicate it in its original form. I translate its essence through other mediums — such as silkscreen printing, hand-printing, layering transparent materials, unraveling fabric, or creating large-scale textile installations. I treat these traditional techniques not as fixed or sacred forms, but as evolving languages that can be reimagined and expanded.
Balancing the traditional and the contemporary isn’t about contrast — it’s about transformation. It’s about finding new ways to tell old stories and making our cultural roots part of our everyday, contemporary lives — so they remain alive for future generations. Just as Palestinian embroidery was passed down from grandmothers to mothers to daughters, I view this transmission as an act of resilience, storytelling, and care. My work seeks to continue this tradition, not by preserving it as it is, but by allowing it to evolve and speak a new visual language.
The act of layering, deconstructing, and reshaping textiles reflects the dynamic nature of cultural heritage. It’s never still. Just as embroidery once served as a coded language of belonging and resistance, my work aims to reinterpret those narratives, expanding them within a contemporary context. Through this process, I hope to express the rootedness and resilience of Palestinian culture, allowing it to breathe into the future.
٢. In The Mother Thread, in Flowing Threads, you explore life paths through textile. What role does storytelling play in your work—and do you see thread as a kind of language?
‘Flowing Threads,’ is a captivating textile installation that unravels layers of symbolism, revealing the interconnectedness of identity and the cosmic tapestry, all while emphasizing transparency and adaptability in life.
Through Flowing Threads, I expand my practice, using textiles that I unravel and reshape with my own hands. This meticulous and laborious technique reveals layers that allow the fabric to follow the movement of the wind, accentuating its lightness. By carefully removing each thread one by one, I reshape the function of the fabric, giving it new life and breath. This reverse process of creation expresses how, even when things return to their original form, they remain complete and beautiful. The contrast of color against the muted solidness of its surroundings creates a dynamic gradation of reflections, enhancing the installation’s fluidity and transformation.
The fabric itself serves as a microcosm, representing an individual’s existence within the larger universe. Just as the fabric consists of interconnected threads, humans are interconnected with the fabric of the universe, forming part of a cosmic tapestry. As I unravel the fabric, I contemplate the unravelling of one’s own journey — the layers of identity, the constant reweaving of meaning, and the significance of transparency and adaptability in life. The transparency of the fabric allows the viewer to see through it, creating a connection between the artwork and the space itself. The fabric becomes part of the space, reacting to the environment, while the wind shapes it, making it breathe with its surroundings.
Through this process, Flowing Threads speaks to the continuous transformation of life, the resilience of identity, and the adaptability required to navigate one’s path. It becomes not only a symbol of individual journeys but also an expression of how we, too, are shaped by the cosmic threads that bind us all together.
٣. You’ve described your work as an “embodied universe of symbolic meaning.” What’s one symbol or motif you keep returning to, and what does it mean to you now?
For me, the thread is a reflection of the universe — the universe as a whole, emphasizing the vast and interconnected nature of existence, similar to the way threads form a whole when woven together. One symbol I continually return to is the thread, particularly the threads I collect when I unravel the fabric. It’s a deeply personal symbol of connection, transformation, and resilience. When I unravel the fabric, I keep the threads I pull out, preserving them as part of the process. This act of unraveling isn’t just about breaking down; it’s about finding new meaning, new breath, and new potential within something that seems to have been undone. For me, unraveling the fabric is a meditative process — a way to reflect and connect with my inner self, as well as with the world around me.
I see thread as a metaphor for the universe’s flow, its tapestry, its cycles and essence — and yet, it is also flexible, delicate, and powerful. These are qualities that resonate with me personally. Just like the threads, I see myself as someone who is soft and flexible, yet strong and capable of adapting to life’s various paths. When you look closely at the threads, they embody a subtle balance of strength and fragility, just as I approach both my work and my life.
Through this motif, I continually revisit and reimagine the thread because it is not just a tool in my art; it’s a reflection of who I am — soft, delicate, and flexible. For me, the thread is more than just a colorful material; it is a powerful tool for making a statement. It symbolizes both personal identity and universal connection, carrying layers of meaning in every single fiber.
٤. From Stockholm to London, Bahrain to Dubai—your creative journey has been global. How do these different geographies shape your practice? Does your identity shift depending on where you’re working?
Living and working in different parts of the world has significantly shaped my artistic perspective. My time in London and Stockholm exposed me to high-end design practices and taught me how to be both creative and practical in my approach to textile art. These experiences refined my technical skills, deepened my understanding of materiality, and showed me how to balance artistic vision with functionality—something that continues to influence my work today.
Beyond my professional experiences, participating in exhibitions across different countries has opened my mind to new perspectives. Showing my work in cities like New York, Paris, Munich, Hamburg, Poland, Istanbul, Beirut, Algeria, Bahrain, and Doha has allowed me to engage with diverse artistic dialogues, learn from other cultures, and integrate new influences into my practice. Each place has contributed something unique—whether through artistic techniques, conceptual approaches, or new ways of thinking about textiles as a medium.
Being immersed in different cultures and meeting people from around the world has made me more open-minded—both as a person and as an artist. It taught me how to listen, observe, and appreciate different ways of living and expressing, and that naturally found its way into my work. This openness has helped me develop a more inclusive and layered approach to my practice, where I can weave together various stories, aesthetics, and techniques.
Dubai, in particular, has been an incredible place of learning. The city brings together people from so many different cultural backgrounds, and this diversity resonates deeply with my artistic philosophy—bringing different threads together to create something new. The exchange of ideas and experiences here has reinforced my belief that textile art is a universal language, capable of bridging cultures, histories, and personal narratives.
٥. You blur the lines between humans and objects, art and design. What’s a piece you’ve created that you feel most blurred those boundaries—and how did people respond to it?
One piece where I most clearly blur the boundaries between human presence and object, art and design, is Urban Jerusalem. I created this work in 2018 and named it after my homeland. Though it takes the form of a thoub — the traditional Palestinian dress — it is not meant to be worn. It is a conceptual piece, shaped like a body, like a character, almost like a silent figure standing in space, embodying my identity and reflecting the memory of my land.
I created this thoub as a tribute to Jerusalem — to Palestine — and to the visual and emotional language of my culture. The printed composition on its surface merges two rich traditions: Palestinian embroidery and the Islamic garden. Both are deeply symbolic and rooted in storytelling. Each motif in traditional embroidery carries meaning — symbols of resilience, land, and continuity — passed down from generation to generation. Similarly, in the Islamic garden, every element is intentionally placed and layered with meaning: the flowing water, the four-part layout, the trees, the geometry — all reflect paradise, harmony, and spiritual life. I brought them together because I see them both as expressions of memory and resilience,— visual languages that speak to identity, belonging, and resistance.
Urban Jerusalem doesn’t function as a garment — it holds presence, like a person. It stands on its own, inviting viewers to walk around it, to feel it as both a structure and a soul. Its composition draws from traditional embroidery, but I reimagined it using techniques like silkscreen printing, hand embroidery, and unraveling — all to explore themes of transparency, memory, and transformation.
Since its creation, Urban Jerusalem has become an iconic piece, showcased in seven countries (Palestine, Poland, Germany, Bahrain, the UAE, Turkey, and Lebanon) and featured in eleven exhibitions worldwide. Its impact lies in its ability to communicate a universal language of identity and belonging, bridging different cultures through textile art. The concept of the thoub revolves around an iconic image that explores the idea of the mother tongue—a symbol of inherited knowledge, storytelling, and the unspoken connections between people and places. A single thread blurs the boundary between human presence and materiality, capturing the vibrancy and harmony of the Levant’s visual identity. The composition—where materials, colors, shapes, and patterns converge—creates an embodied meaning, symbolizing spiritual life and communication beyond physical space.
٦. A lot of people assume Islamic and Arabic art as static or historic. How do you challenge that perception and keep it alive, embodied, and evolving in your own work?
I approach Arabic culture as a living tradition—something that evolves with time rather than remaining static. For me, Arabic art is not a relic of the past; it is a dynamic, evolving expression of identity, culture, and spirituality. My work draws from the rich history of Islamic geometric patterns, calligraphy, and Palestinian traditional embroidery, but I don’t simply replicate these forms. I reinterpret them through abstraction, layering, and contemporary compositions, allowing them to breathe in new contexts.
A central theme in my work is the Islamic garden, which I see as a miniature representation of paradise. This concept reflects balance, infinity, and spiritual transcendence. In pieces like Urban Jerusalem, I explore the transformation of the garden from an earthly sanctuary to an ethereal vision of paradise in the sky, mirroring my approach to Arabic culture—honoring its deep roots while elevating it into new contemporary expressions. I merge these traditional elements with experimental processes such as silkscreen printing, hand embroidery, and unraveling, breaking down the boundaries between past and present.
By doing this, I ensure that these artistic traditions are not only preserved but also evolve to resonate with future generations. My goal is to keep the essence of our cultural identity alive, while allowing it to develop and engage with the modern world. Through my work, I aim to bridge the past with the present, creating a dialogue that reaffirms the richness and continuity of our heritage. Arabic art, for me, is alive, constantly shifting and reshaping in response to the world around it.
٧. You’ve worked with brands like H&M and & Other Stories, and exhibited in institutions like MKG Museum. How do you navigate the space between commercial textile design and conceptual art? Are they ever in conflict?
Working with brands like H&M and & Other Stories has taught me how to balance functionality with creativity. Commercial textile design requires a practical approach— understanding materials, manufacturing processes, and consumer needs. Through this experience, I’ve learned how to bring a vision to life within those parameters, ensuring that my designs are both aesthetically compelling and functional. It has helped me develop a more focused and structured approach to my artistic practice.
While there is a difference between commercial design and conceptual art, I don’t see them as being in conflict. In fact, working in both spheres has enriched my artistic work. My commercial collaborations have made me more aware of the importance of functionality, which has influenced how I think about the usability of my conceptual pieces. They’ve allowed me to refine my vision and make sure that my artistic ideas also resonate on a practical level. The beauty of textile design lies in its versatility — it can be both artistic and functional, and I strive to blend both worlds seamlessly.
Through these experiences, I’ve learned how to shape my artistic vision with greater clarity and precision, while also staying true to my creative roots. Whether it’s a piece for an exhibition or a design for a brand, the goal is always to create something that speaks to the viewer, communicates a story, and has a meaningful impact.
٨. If your work had a soundtrack—something that threads through each piece—what would it sound like? And just for fun: what’s the one tool in your studio you can’t live without?
If my work had a soundtrack, it would undoubtedly include the sound of flowing water. Water symbolizes infinity, continuity, and the cyclical nature of life — themes that are central to my practice. Whether it’s in the symbolism of the Islamic garden or the fluidity of my textile techniques, the sound of water would be an embodiment of the constant flow of ideas, heritage, and culture in my work. I am currently working on incorporating sound into my installations, as I believe it can enhance the sensory experience, adding another layer of meaning to the visual and tactile elements.
As for the one tool I can’t live without, it’s my seam ripper. This tool is integral not only to my studio work but also to my everyday life. I always carry it with me, along with a piece of fabric, wherever I go. It’s more than just a tool—it’s a symbol of my process, of unraveling and transforming materials, ideas, and stories into something new. It’s my constant companion in the journey of creation.
