Saudi artist Lulua Alyahya discusses the works from her current solo show ‘Nafs’ 

Saudi artist Lulua Alyahya’s “Nafs” is running at Jeddah’s Athr Gallery until March 25. (Supplied)
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Updated 14 March 2025
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Saudi artist Lulua Alyahya discusses the works from her current solo show ‘Nafs’ 

  • ‘I hope people see themselves in my work,’ says Lulua Alyahya 

JEDDAH: Saudi artist Lulua Alyahya’s “Nafs,” running at Jeddah’s Athr Gallery until March 25, is her first solo show in her homeland.  

“The title means ‘self,’” Alyahya tells Arab News. “I thought that would be suitable for my first Saudi solo. I’ve exhibited loads in the UK, but the work takes on a completely different meaning when it’s home. The work is very much about the Gulf in general, but specifically Saudi in a lot of ways.” 

The 26-year-old is a graduate of the Slade School of Fine Art and Goldsmiths, University of London. Her work blends personal and collective narratives to explore identity through introspective, minimalist paintings.   

Alyahya’s process is intuitive. Her latest works, primed with black gesso, embrace darker tones and undefined backgrounds. Here, she talks us through five pieces from her current show — something she says she doesn’t find that easy.  

“It’s kind of hard to speak about my work because what I hope is that people see it and see themselves in it. That’s kind of the story behind the title too. I wanted a word that people could literally see themselves in and for that to be the underscore behind all the images.” 

‘Jubbah Petroglyphs’ 

I made this painting in 2023. At the time, I was really fascinated by pre-Islamic petroglyphs in various parts of Saudi Arabia. This one is from Jubbah, near Hail. My family is originally from Hail and when Saudi started to take all these incredible initiatives of uncovering our pre-Islamic history and integrating those stories into our national identity, I just got super interested in looking through, like, Aramco’s archaeology archives and all these different things. I spoke to friends and family about their experiences of these places. I really wanted to make a painting of this specific rock where there are these repeated carvings of camels; I’m interested in camels as a symbol as well, because they’re obviously visually linked to this part of the world. If you go to a tourist shop in the Gulf, you get camel keychains and stuff. I don’t know if ‘kitsch’ is the right word — probably not — but it’s just feels very obvious; it’s very on the nose. And I’m interested in taking symbols that feel on the nose and making them mysterious or playing with the effect of that imagery. I pull from different things all the time; there’s never just one thing that I’m looking at, it’s more that I’m living, reading, speaking and then the paintings come out. There’s a painting I have at Hayy Jameel called “Boardroom” which has these men sitting at a meeting table and looking at a wall which has one of these petroglyph camels on it. Sometimes, there are references to other paintings — little callbacks. There are a lot of inside jokes. Humor is such a big part of the work. 

‘Smoke Break’  

The titles always come after the paintings, and I often leave things untitled — but this one kind of lends itself to the title because the guy’s having a coffee and smoking a cigarette. This is just a painting about rest, but there’s a lot of energy in the way that I’ve painted it; it’s very gestural and there are lots of these marks and splotches of paint.  

‘Magic Chocolate Ball’  

These girls are very funny. Like I said, humor is a big part of my work and this is a piece where I had fun and it was fun to show people. It’s based on a memory of a dessert that I think is so familiar to people living in the Gulf; you order this chocolate ball and the waiter comes over and pours hot melted chocolate on it and the ball melts and reveals something inside of it. I’ve seen it so many times and it just came to mind as I was painting, super-impulsively. What I’m interested in is how people see themselves, or others, in the imagery — or how they don’t. It’s a satirical approach to what’s happening in society. Satire is super-important, but it’s never just one thing or the other — it’s always a combination of various different tones and positions that I’m taking. Like, this is funny to me and I’m choosing to show it, but obviously there’s an emotional connection happening as I’m painting it. 

‘Untitled (2024)’  

It’s this guy on his phone sitting near a pool. He’s a solitary figure. Then there’s two horses and two palm trees. This took me quite a few months to paint. Sometimes I’ll have an idea and paint it and it doesn’t work out at all. That happens a lot more than you’d think. So, I’ll cover something over, then add something new and then cover that thing and then add something new, just waiting for this moment where the elements carry some kind of poetic logic that I trust will translate to the viewer. It’s always hard to articulate — but very easy to know — when it hits that point. 

‘Guard Dog’ 

I love dogs. I paint them a lot. This one is a German Shepherd, which is a guard dog. It’s based on a sketch — it’s very similar to a lot of other works I made. Sometimes, I get stuck on something and it repeats itself across multiple works and other times it’s a one-off thing. I prefer not to try and control it and just let things direct me. 


Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

Updated 25 January 2026
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Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

DUBAI: At this year’s Emirates Airline Festival of Literature in Dubai, a panel on Saturday titled “The Monster Next Door,” moderated by Shane McGinley, posed a question for the ages: Are villains born or made?

Novelists Annabel Kantaria, Louise Candlish and Ruth Ware, joined by a packed audience, dissected the craft of creating morally ambiguous characters alongside the social science that informs them. “A pure villain,” said Ware, “is chilling to construct … The remorselessness unsettles you — How do you build someone who cannot imagine another’s pain?”

Candlish described character-building as a gradual process of “layering over several edits” until a figure feels human. “You have to build the flesh on the bone or they will remain caricatures,” she added.

The debate moved quickly to the nature-versus-nurture debate. “Do you believe that people are born evil?” asked McGinley, prompting both laughter and loud sighs.

Candlish confessed a failed attempt to write a Tom Ripley–style antihero: “I spent the whole time coming up with reasons why my characters do this … It wasn’t really their fault,” she said, explaining that even when she tried to excise conscience, her character kept expressing “moral scruples” and second thoughts.

“You inevitably fold parts of yourself into your creations,” said Ware. “The spark that makes it come alive is often the little bit of you in there.”

Panelists likened character creation to Frankenstein work. “You take the irritating habit of that co‑worker, the weird couple you saw in a restaurant, bits of friends and enemies, and stitch them together,” said Ware.

But real-world perspective reframed the literary exercise in stark terms. Kantaria recounted teaching a prison writing class and quoting the facility director, who told her, “It’s not full of monsters. It’s normal people who made a bad decision.” She recalled being struck that many inmates were “one silly decision” away from the crimes that put them behind bars. “Any one of us could be one decision away from jail time,” she said.

The panelists also turned to scientific findings through the discussion. Ware cited infant studies showing babies prefer helpers to hinderers in puppet shows, suggesting “we are born with a natural propensity to be attracted to good.”

Candlish referenced twin studies and research on narrative: People who can form a coherent story about trauma often “have much better outcomes,” she explained.

“Both things will end up being super, super neat,” she said of genes and upbringing, before turning to the redemptive power of storytelling: “When we can make sense of what happened to us, we cope better.”

As the session closed, McGinley steered the panel away from tidy answers. Villainy, the authors agreed, is rarely the product of an immutable core; more often, it is assembled from ordinary impulses, missteps and circumstances. For writers like Kantaria, Candlish and Ware, the task is not to excuse cruelty but “to understand the fragile architecture that holds it together,” and to ask readers to inhabit uncomfortable but necessary perspectives.