Through illustration, photography, film, and art direction, Karen Madi builds intimate visual worlds shaped by inner dialogue, mental landscapes, and the small rituals of home. In this conversation, she reflects on softness as strength, the need for structure in moments of chaos, and how art becomes a place to breathe, slow down, and exist honestly.
In this edition of Creative Talks, KHAMSA sits down with Karen, a Dubai-based multidisciplinary creative whose work moves quietly but stays with you.
١. In your mirror piece about ADHD and mental overload, there’s both stillness and repetition. When your mind feels chaotic, do you find comfort in visual order or do you resist it?
When I feel overwhelmed, I need to compartmentalize and organize things. Sometimes I need to fit everything into a box, or I find myself repeating the same action over and over again, especially when I paint. My architecture background also makes me crave symmetry and composition.
But life is too chaotic to keep things aligned all the time, and when my inner world feels chaotic too, I try to create order in my artistic universe.
٢. Your illustrated women often appear alone, mid-thought, mid-blink, mid-dream. Are they versions of you? Versions of us? Or someone in between?
They are definitely versions of me, but also versions of anyone who lives a lot in their head.
They show the version of me I am too shy to show out loud. The version behind the social mask. How I see myself when I am alone: tired, overthinking, deep in thought. I hope this translates into a version of us as women, because most of us never really show that side. And to be honest, even now I am still hiding behind my art to express that feeling.
٣. What’s one domestic detail you keep returning to, even subconsciously, when you draw?
Tiles. Bathroom walls, kitchen floors, tablecloth grids. The structure calms my mind, and bathrooms feel like the safest space. Tiles also remind me of my grandma’s kitchen, so they carry a sense of home for me.
٤. Do you think softness can sometimes be more confrontational than boldness?
Yes, softness can be confronting. I use soft, pale tones for the women because that is how I see myself during moments of heaviness, almost ghost-like, like a fading version of me. The colors look gentle, but they reveal feelings I usually hide, which makes the softness feel more honest and more exposing. The rough textures in the objects make them feel like relics, something heavy and solid against that softness.
I like that tension between something fragile and something grounded.
٥. What can drawing say for you that words or even photographs can’t?
Drawing lets me slow down my thoughts. It makes space for ambiguity and memory in a way photography cannot. When I draw, I am not documenting reality, I am distilling it.
It is the only medium where I can translate the atmosphere in my head, the feelings that do not have clear sentences or literal images.
I also use drawing to build a universe I can live in. When the external and internal structures around me feel unstable, the creative space becomes the closest thing to home. I depend on it. Through my work, I am constantly asking what home really is. Is it the self, the physical space, the environment we are trying to understand, or the inner world we build to survive?
٦. If one of your illustrated women could step out of the frame and speak to you, what do you think she’d want to say?
Probably something simple like “breathe” or “slow down.” A lot of my characters hold a kind of stillness that I do not always allow myself in real life. They would probably remind me that it is okay not to be productive all the time, and that small moments count. Or maybe they would just sit with me in silence, which is its own kind of conversation.
