DUBAI: The Syrian director Feras Fayyad had his first encounter with the White Helmets just over four years ago. It was 2013, a barrel bomb had been dropped on the city of Aleppo and members of the search and rescue team were running in its direction with little regard for their own safety.
Shortly afterwards, in one of the worst explosions to hit the city, many of them lost their lives.
It was a moment that would shape Fayyad’s future. Amazed by their ability to turn such loss into the motivation to continue to search for life under the rubble, he began to contemplate the media’s portrayal of the civil war in Syria.
“At that time all the media were focusing on refugees, battles, wars and terrorism, but behind all of that there was a story of these men with their families who faced everything to stay,” Fayyad told Arab News. “They had a sense of responsibility toward their surroundings. They were running toward where they might lose their lives.
“In my mind, I wanted to catch how much this war destroyed the relationships inside families and how those families survived. What did they do, what made them keep saying and doing what they did, knowing that saving the lives of others might cause them to lose their own lives?”
The end result of that contemplation — “Last Men in Aleppo” — had its Middle East premiere at the Dubai International Film Festival, which wraps up on Dec. 16.
Shot in collaboration with Danish filmmaker Steen Johannessen, the documentary won the Sundance Grand Jury Prize in January and has been described by The Guardian as a “100-minute account of lives lived in hell.” Powerful, heartbreaking and immediate, it has won critical praise across the world.
Set in Aleppo after five years of war, it follows volunteers working for the White Helmets as they face a daily life-and-death struggle, scouring through rubble in search of bodies and signs of life.
Volunteers such as Khaled Omar Harrah, a father who will do anything to save his two daughters; Mahmoud, who feels guilty because his brother Ahmad already volunteers for the civil defense unit, so joins himself; and Abu Youssef and Nagieb, who will try everything to make sure their best friend Khaled survives.
“These kinds of relations between the characters drove me to another level, where I discovered how those people survive and what motivates them to keep doing what they do,” Fayyad said. “The cohesion of social relations was immeasurably strong, contrary to what I thought — that is, that society would disintegrate as a result of war and devastation. But I found that what made these people survive was to hold on to their relationships. It’s a story about fatherhood, brothers, friendship and love.”
Produced collaboratively by Larm Film in Copenhagen and the Aleppo Media Center (AMC), Last Men in Aleppo was shot between September 2015 and autumn 2016.
For years the AMC had filmed civilians being bombed — uploading the footage to CNN, Reuters and YouTube — and acted as reporters in front of the camera. It was a method that co-director Johannessen said they had grown tired of, mainly due to its ineffectiveness in raising international awareness. So they teamed up to try to tell their stories in a longer format.
Understandably, making a film in a city under aerial bombardment proved harrowing, while the co-directors also needed to assuage the fears of two of the main characters that the film was not about them seeking personal fame.
“It’s hard to explain how dangerous it was, but whoever watches the film will see the madness and irrationality that surrounded us,” said Fayyad, who was tortured and imprisoned by the Syrian regime during the early days of the war. “Where the city literally burned, the sounds of death (besieged) us at every moment. But what was impressive was the adherence of the citizens of Aleppo to life and resistance and survival.
“We were able to capture the most impressive moments of the meaning of love of life and strong adherence to human values, which was a compass for our characters and for the survival of the population.”
As the aerial bombardment intensified, filming was occasionally abandoned, while those filming would sometimes drop their cameras and become rescue workers themselves.
Filming was particularly difficult for Fayyad, who was born and raised in Syria, but was forced to flee the country in 2012, heading first to Jordan and then on to Turkey, before relocating to Copenhagen. He first started working on Last Men in Aleppo while in Turkey.
“Some ideas can cost you your life,” said Fayyad, who had to slip in and out of Aleppo during filming. “This is how difficult it was for my cinematographers and me to bring this idea to life. But during the shooting we would look at how our characters faced challenges bigger than their abilities as humans for the sake of one idea — to save the lives of people. The people of their homeland, the people who know them.
“This in itself was for me a great motivation to think more about what can be done through art and what my mission as an artist was in front of all these challenges. My observations of the difficulties of the characters’ internal conflicts, where they have to decide between their personal and their families’ safety and their humanitarian duty toward those who believe in it, turned into questions in the film. Questions about the value of art in wartime and what it can do or change (also arose), as well as how it can be a testimony to history (and) space for them to express their desires and internal conflicts.”
In his absence, the cinematographers would continue to film, with the footage smuggled out of the country electronically. “For sure, one of our heroes on this film is the IT guy who worked hard and long to protect my footage,” said Fayyad, who has received several threats since the release of the film. As a result, he never lets it be known where he is living or where he is going.
At the Dubai International Film Festival, Last Men in Aleppo was among 18 films selected for this year’s Muhr Feature competition. Others include Lucien Bourjeily’s “Heaven without People,” Kurdish director Sahim Omar Kalifa’s “Zagros,” Iraqi filmmaker Mohamed Jabrah Al-Daradji’s “The Journey,” and Annemarie Jacir’s “Wajib.”
“This experience changed me a lot as a moviemaker and as a human being,” Fayyad said. “We made this film as a testimony to the history of our region. A testimony to war crimes that may someday be used as criminal documents to bring war criminals to justice.”
‘Last Men in Aleppo’ director sheds light on making a movie in a war zone
‘Last Men in Aleppo’ director sheds light on making a movie in a war zone
Moroccan women embroider ‘art with purpose’
- Several hunch over large canvasses, embroidering their latest piece at the women-only workshop, in the village of 400 people
- Some of their works have been shown internationally
SIDI RBAT, Morocco: In a small village on the coast of southern Morocco, women gather in a house to create collaborative works of textile art, and also earn a living.
Several hunch over large canvasses, embroidering their latest piece at the women-only workshop, in the village of 400 people. Some of their works have been shown internationally.
“This project has changed my life,” said Hanane Ichbikili, a 28-year-old former nursing student turned project creative director.
“And yet I had never held an embroidery needle before,” she told AFP.
Just 19 percent of Moroccan women hold steady jobs, according to official figures, and in rural areas they are particularly affected by poverty, unpaid labor and a lack of opportunity.
An artist with roots in both Morocco and France has tried to make a difference.
Margaux Derhy founded the workshop in 2022 in her father’s native village of Sidi R’bat, around 70 kilometers (45 miles) south of Agadir, to fulfil her “dream to make art with purpose.”
The project uses textiles and old photographs to explore her family heritage before they left the country in the 1960s, turning sepia-toned portraits and scenes into large silk-and-linen canvases.
The North African country was a protectorate of France before gaining its independence in 1956.
The project is more than just personal for Derhy — it also provides local women in the small fishing village employment.
“I wanted to be engaged on the ground,” said Derhy, adding that she hired 10 local women to work full-time for a monthly salary exceeding Morocco’s private-sector minimum wage of 3,045 dirhams ($330).
The women’s hands glide over frames that were once used by Paris’s prestigious Maison Lesage, the world-famous embroidery house that has worked with some of the greatest names in fashion.
The creative process is collaborative, with Derhy drawing an outline and the team then gathering to choose the threads and color palette for each section.
A canvas can take up to five months to complete.
The finished works, priced at up to $5,620, have been shown in exhibitions in Marrakech, Paris and Brussels. Future exhibits are planned for Casablanca’s L’Atelier 21 and Tabari Artspace Gallery in Dubai.
The workshop has also helped to challenge perceived ideas about women in the village.
“At first, some of the women had to hide to come because it was frowned upon,” said Khadija Ahuilat, 26, who oversees operations.
She said some people thought the project “was nonsense, and a woman should stay at home.”
“But we managed to change that. I’m very proud to have contributed to this change, even if on a small scale.”
Her mother, Aicha Jout, 50, a widow who once gathered mussels and raised livestock to support her family, is now one of the embroiderers.
“It changes a lot for me to be here,” she said.
“I love the idea of embroidering on pictures, but also of passing on the craft to other women.”
Jout learned to embroider at the age of 12, and has trained the rest of her mostly single or widowed colleagues.
“There aren’t really a lot of job opportunities here, so when the chance came I didn’t hesitate for a second,” said Haddia Nachit, 59, one of the workshop’s most efficient embroiders.
Her nickname among the women is “TGV” — after France’s high-speed train.
Seated next to Nachit, Fadma Lachgar, also 59, said the work allowed her to help her family.
“Resuming embroidery at my age, after 20 years of stopping, is a blessing,” she said.
Basmah Felemban unpacks memory, identity in Riyadh solo show ‘Vessel of Wreckage’
RIYADH: Seasoned Saudi artist Basmah Felemban’s work will make you think. In her latest solo exhibition, “Vessel of Wreckage,” which runs at ATHR Gallery in Riyadh until June 26, she combines elements that many of us can relate to while being authentically, fully herself.
“In the past five or six years, my practice has been really an investigation of my family roots from Indonesia and — kind of as a result of getting into sci-fi — to have some imaginary explanations of those reasons why they came from Indonesia to Saudi, because I failed at the factual research, really,” Felemban, who lives and works between London and Jeddah, tells Arab News.
“When did my family move? This is one of the mysteries — part of the myth of the family. I have no idea. I’d say that my granddad came to Saudi for work, probably in the Seventies. But I’d learned that Felemban, our last name, comes from an island called Palembang, so in kindergarten I used to tell people I was a princess because I’m used to, like, the Al-Saud family and Saudi Arabia, so I thought since I’m Felemban from Palembang, I must be a princess.”
Growing up, Felemban assumed that they had no Saudi relatives, until her brother serendipitously found out that they had cousins in town.
“I realized, ‘Oh! We do have extended family here; we’re just not connected to them.’ And that’s also part of the myth and the lore of our family story. Once I realized that, it kind of clicked with me that our identities are really just a construct — it doesn’t really matter if they’re factual. I don’t think my family intentionally tried to lie. I think they believed this was the story.”
All of this was part of Felemban’s world building.
“I think, in Hejaz in general, people came from all over and there was this whole umbrella under which we wanted to identify as ‘Saudi’ for a lot of time. Like, if you speak to me about anything Indonesian, I would have no idea, because my family really assimilated,” she says, adding that she hopes to visit Indonesia soon.
“I wouldn’t say I feel like I’m part of a diaspora, even if I am, factually. But I think Saudi is a very specific, special case in terms of identity. I feel like I’m more interested in the family story and why their connections are the way they are.
“I didn’t grow up in an environment where ours was a weird story,” she adds. “Even my friends that are Bedouin are still also away from where they are from.”
Here, Felemban talks us through several works from the show.
‘Pulang (To Go Home)’
There are five ship windows looking out on five different topics that I researched, from facts to absurd sci-fi stories. They’re videos collected from YouTube — just rabbit holes I fell into. I really like to document my research and my notes, then my work grows like a mind map — I connect words and then try to connect concepts between those words and visuals. The first window starts with a propaganda documentary about the colonial history of Indonesia and its impact on folklore dances and music. Then a scene that a lot of my world is based on; Indonesian pilgrims reciting a religious song about the prophet.
I realized that another connection between Indonesia and Saudi is catfish — another creature of myth. A few years ago, people realized that there’s a lot of huge catfish in Wadi Hanifa and they started to ask: How did they come here? I like that, as a myth. In Indonesia, the catfish is a really huge asset, but also has some negative connotations.
‘Fish from the Ground’
This work talks about the catfish myth. They are an invasive species and tend to be really vicious and really quick to adapt, so in less than a couple of hundreds of years it was able to evolve from swimming to being able to ‘walk,’ almost on land. That’s likely where the term ‘catfishing’ comes from.
‘Wave Catcher’
When I was approached by the Islamic Arts Biennale (in 2023), I thought, ‘My work is quite futuristic, very colorful and digital, so how can (make it fit) in?’ I think of this work like an ancient machine used by the catfish to collect data by listening to sounds of the calls to prayer from countries around the Red Sea. And by hearing it, the fish are able to measure distances, and study the water and such. That thought was based on research from lectures from scientists.
‘The Gömböc, the Turtle and the Evolution of Shape’
This is a game based on a lecture by a scientist. If you put the headphones on, you can hear the lecture and then when you reach the top of this fish mountain, there’s a room that has a table that also existed in the lecture and you can interact with that. It’s a video game I made with my husband. He’s an economist so he helps me a lot with conceptualizing what data could be like — that kind of geeky aspect of my work. It’s very experimental and it’s a little bit janky — in the best way possible!
‘Elemental Sprite’ series
These AI works — “Sphere,” “Rod,” “Disc,” and “Blade” (shown here) — are based on some of the same research as “Wave Catcher,” which is some sort of mathematical study of pebbles and the way that pebbles change in nature. But also, if you scan one of the squares, it animates. I’m very much a digital artist at heart and AI is something I’m really interested in, but I have to say that I don’t use AI in engines; I use sort of ‘offline AI.’ I use the modules themselves, the interfaces. Every six months, AI completely changes in quality because it really develops, and I learn more too. This is almost like a documentation of my learning curve, and of the technology itself.
‘Before Asphalt’
These are pictures that I stole from my dad before he passed away. He used to work at the municipality, and these were pictures from the Nineties documenting some of the potholes around Jeddah. I like to think of the city as a galaxy and the potholes as portals. The yellow looks like slime — I’m definitely a cartoon girl and this is like “(Teenaged Mutant) Ninja Turtles” sludge. I think maybe it’ll appear again in another work and I’ll get more into this portal idea.
Recipes for success: Chef Georges Ikhtiar offers advice and a tasty beef recipe
DUBAI: Georges Ikhtiar, head chef at Amelia Dubai, grew up in Beirut, where he remembers watching his mother cook “by instinct, without recipes or rules.”
That early exposure sparked a curiosity not just for flavors, but for the process of cooking — how ingredients transform, how timing and technique matter. This eventually led him to Lebanon’s Ecole Hôtelière.
A pivotal career moment came during his time in Peru, where he was introduced to the country’s bold, acidic and layered flavors. This now shapes his approach at Amelia, where he blends Peruvian ingredients with Japanese methods.
Here, Ikhtiar reflects on how mistakes can lead to creative breakthroughs, and gives his thoughts on simplicity in cooking.
When you started out, what was the most common mistake you made?
Like many young chefs, I believed that more was more — that adding extra ingredients or steps would somehow elevate a dish. I loved experimenting, and while that spirit of curiosity still drives me today, I’ve learned that simplicity is key. The most powerful flavors often come from restraint and letting the ingredients speak for themselves.
What’s your top tip for amateur chefs?
Taste constantly. It’s the most important tool you have. And don’t let mistakes throw you off — every error is a lesson. Some of the best ideas I’ve had started as accidents. Cooking at home should be fun, not stressful.
What’s one ingredient that can instantly improve any dish?
In Peruvian cuisine, it’s definitely lime. It brings brightness, aroma and a sense of freshness that can completely transform a dish. Just a few drops can awaken the palate and sharpen and enhance every other flavor.
What’s your go-to dish if you have to cook something quickly at home?
A simple truffle pasta. I soak the pasta to speed up the cooking time, then toss it with a creamy truffle sauce, fresh shaved truffles and parmesan. It’s rich, comforting and comes together fast, but still feels luxurious.
When you go out to eat, do you find yourself critiquing the food?
Always. It’s part of the job. I’m always observing, analyzing, and seeing what I like or don’t like. But I keep it to myself; dining out is also about experiencing what other chefs are creating.
What’s the most common mistake you notice in other restaurants?
It’s usually to do with balance or execution, like undercooked elements, seasoning that is off, or dishes that feel overcomplicated.
What’s your favorite cuisine?
I gravitate toward Japanese and Peruvian food, naturally, but I’m always curious to explore. I like to see how others approach flavor, presentation and structure. Inspiration can come from the most unexpected places.
What request or behavior by customers most annoys you?
Honestly, nothing. I believe taste is subjective and the customer is always right. We’re here to create an experience that works for them, not just for us.
What’s your favorite dish to cook?
It is a dish called Adas be Hamid, which means lentils with lemon. My grandmother used to make it when I was growing up in Beirut. It’s incredibly simple but full of flavor and warmth. Cooking it always takes me back to my roots, and I love how food has the power to do that.
What’s the most difficult dish for you to get right?
Risotto. It’s a very delicate dish that reacts to everything — temperature, timing, movement, even the humidity. You have to be fully present when making it. One misstep and the whole texture is off.
As a head chef, what are you like? Are you a disciplinarian? Or are you more laidback?
I’m direct and hands-on, but not someone who shouts. I believe in open communication, mutual respect and building trust. My team and I have worked together for a long time, so we understand each other without needing to say much. There’s a flow in the kitchen when everyone is aligned, and that’s what I strive for.
Chef Georges Ikhtiar’s hokkaido machu picchu recipe
Ingredients:
For the beef:
250g beef tenderloin
Salt and black pepper, to taste
Cooked over a robata grill (or any hot grill pan)
For the teppanyaki vegetables:
2 tbsp vegetable oil
20g Chinese cabbage, chopped
3 rainbow baby carrots, sliced
20g mange tout (snow peas)
10g shiitake mushrooms, sliced
20g baby corn, halved
1 spring onion, thickly sliced
2 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp kimchi sauce
2 tbsp sake sauce (optional for extra depth)
For the shiitake sauce:
300g fresh shiitake mushrooms, sliced
1L fresh cream
200ml milk
Salt and black pepper, to taste
1 small onion, chopped
1 tbsp butter
Instructions:
1. Grill the beef:
Season beef with salt and pepper. Grill on a robata grill until cooked to your liking. Let it rest before slicing.
2. Sauté the vegetables:
Heat oil in a pan. Add the vegetables and stir-fry for a few minutes.
Add soy sauce, kimchi sauce, and sake sauce (if using). Stir well and cook until just tender. Season with pepper.
3. Make the shiitake sauce:
In a saucepan, sauté onions and mushrooms in butter until soft.
Add cream, milk, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and let simmer. Boil twice to bring out full flavor, then remove from heat.
To plate:
Slice the grilled beef.
Place the sautéed vegetables on a serving plate.
Lay the beef slices on top.
Spoon the warm shiitake sauce to the side or over the top.
Optional: If using a hot stone for serving, you can lightly reheat the meat on it just before eating for a fun finishing touch.
Balad Al-Fann brings Saudi art to life
- Exhibition blends art and memories through archival materials, selected artworks, personal possessions and rare voice recordings
JEDDAH: The second edition of the Balad Al-Fann art program has opened in Jeddah Historic District and runs until June 15.
The initiative this time presents a captivating series of art exhibitions, held under the theme “Our Storied Walls,” which celebrate memory, culture and place.
It boasts a renewed focus on local narratives with each exhibition looking at the tangible and human heritage of the city.
Held at Nassif Boutique, the exhibition is a tribute to the late artist Hisham Binjabi, a foundational figure in Saudi Arabia’s modern art movement.
Curated by Ayman Yossri Daydban, a former student of Binjabi, the exhibition blends art and memories through archival materials, selected artworks, personal possessions and rare voice recordings.
Arab News spoke to Daydban, who is one of the most prominent contemporary artists in Saudi Arabia, with his works featuring in major museums and biennials.
He said: “This is a personal exhibition. My journey with Hisham Binjabi began over 35 years ago when he discovered my work, admired it, and encouraged me.
“For a whole year his name echoed in my mind, until I held my first solo exhibition in 1991. It was his encouragement and appreciation of my boldness — he said I thought outside the box — that pushed me forward. I found myself naturally drawn to contemporary art.”
Daydban’s art is conceptual, and rooted in ideas and meaning. Binjabi, on the other hand, remained faithful to classical and realist styles.
Daydban said: “For years we observed each other’s work from afar, and every time we met I felt like a student reuniting with his mentor.
“But Hisham was more than an artist — he was a social figure, a cultural activist who managed and promoted art within the community, bringing art into social and human contexts.
“His greatest influence was not just in his paintings, but in his presence, personality, and wisdom.”
The exhibition does not merely display Binjabi’s artworks — it narrates his life story through them.
His wife played a part by telling their story through her lens and, for the first time, her works are featured in a dedicated section alongside audio recordings of her and their daughters, reflecting on their lives together as a creative family.
An audio room on the upper floor features testimonials from contemporary artists who were his students or peers, and more recordings are added daily.
The exhibition unfolds across three levels: a deeply emotional audiovisual experience, a debut showcase of his wife’s personal works, and a collective sonic space for shared memory and reflection.
Daydban added: “Hisham was, above all, a socially engaged artist, and this exhibit is aimed primarily at the community of Al-Balad, where he lived and left his mark.”
The program also honors the late Safeya Binzagr, one of the first female visual artists in the Kingdom.
Curated by Effat Fadag, the exhibition weaves together the visual and literary in a journey filled with nostalgia, history and cultural memory.
The exhibition presents rare paintings, handwritten letters, and personal belongings that reflect Binzagr’s unique lens on Hejazi life. Her deeply human portrayals of women, homes, attire and rituals offer not only artistic beauty but also historic insight.
Titled “Revealing What Was Hidden,” the exhibition shows how Binzagr used her art to bring the past to life. Her work helps keep Saudi culture and history alive.
The event honors her role as an artist and historian, and Fadag said: “I asked myself: What can I say that hasn’t already been said? I wanted to highlight aspects of her journey that aren’t widely known.”
Binzagr was the first woman to publicly showcase her family and community life, giving a voice to the private lives of Saudi women — a society that was largely hidden at the time.
Fadag said: “I tried to reflect this (voice) through the layout of the exhibition, using the historic Nassif House, starting from the main building to the external annex, with three symbolic doors that narrate her story.”
This journey begins with Binzagr’s birth and upbringing, moves through her education, the exhibitions she held, and finally her artistic projects on Saudi traditional attire, which are featured on the second floor.
Fadag said: “In the clothing room you see very personal images — she even modeled for her work so she could better understand and express the exact details she wanted to paint. She knew exactly how to translate her vision.”
The final section focuses on giving back to the community, and how Binzagr impacted learning, the broader culture and society at large.
The initiative also puts the spotlight on a curated selection of winning works from a national photography competition, while Balad Al-Fann also hosts a competition showcasing traditional calligraphy, ceramics, ornamentation, and engraving.
Qatar’s ‘Beyti Beytak’ exhibition in Venice explores architecture’s roots in hospitality
- Show examines how traditional MENASA design ‘fosters belonging, dignity, and collective life’
DUBAI: Qatar’s first participation in the Venice Biennale of Architecture is a major exhibition spanning two sites in the Italian city — the ACP-Palazzo Franchetti, and the site of what will be the permanent Qatar Pavilion in the Giardini della Biennale. (That pavilion will be the first permanent addition to the historic gardens in more than 30 years.)
The exhibition, “Beyti Beytak. My Home is Your Home. La Mia Casa è la Tua Casa,” is presented by Qatar Museums and curated by the Art Mill Museum — Qatar’s yet-to-be-built museum of modern and contemporary art — and, according to a press release “explores meanings of hospitality within the architecture, urbanism and landscape designs of the Middle East, South Asia, and North Africa region.” It features examples from 30 architects, dating from the mid-20th century to the present day.
Aurélien Lemonier, architect and curator at the Art Mill Museum, and the exhibition’s co-curator, tells Arab News: “The exhibition reflects on the essence of hospitality, not just as tradition but as a spatial and social practice. It explores how architecture from the MENASA region fosters belonging, dignity, and collective life.”
On the permanent pavilion’s future site stands a newly commissioned structure by Yasmeen Lari, Pakistan’s first female architect and a pioneer of humanitarian design. Her bamboo-and-palm-frond “Community Center,” created using zero-carbon, low-cost techniques, was developed through the Heritage Foundation of Pakistan, which Lari co-founded. The structure exemplifies what she calls Barefoot Social Architecture — a methodology that mobilizes local resources, community labor, and heritage crafts to produce flood- and earthquake-resistant structures, addressing, she has said, “climate and social justice.”
“When I spoke with Yasmeen,” recalls Lemonier, “I realized her work is a direct legacy of (Egyptian architect) Hassan Fathy. Like him, she empowers the poor to build their own futures.”
The exhibition draws a clear line of continuity from Fathy’s radical use of earthen materials and community-led design to Lari’s ‘barefoot architecture’ in Pakistan. “Fathy taught communities to build with mud brick and vernacular layouts; not only to survive but to thrive,” he says. “Lari continues that legacy by using architecture as a tool of empowerment.”
Lemonier’s co-curator Sean Anderson, an associate professor at New York’s Cornell University, says: “For centuries, cities in the MENASA region have been shaped not by individual buildings, but by how people gather, interact, and live together. Today, that wisdom is more relevant than ever, as we witness the planet’s transformations, mirrored by technology’s drive toward a more collective, yet divided, future.”
This spirit is echoed in the main exhibition at Palazzo Franchetti where “Beyti Beytak” becomes an immersive and archival deep dive into MENASA’s architectural richness. Some of the architects featured are being exhibiting in Venice for the first time. The curators’ ambition is to capture the continuity across generations — from pioneers such as India’s Raj Rewal, Abdel-Wahed El-Wakil of Egypt, Pakistan’s Nayyar Ali Dada, and Sri Lanka’s Minnette de Silva to contemporary leaders including Palestinian-Jordanian architect Abeer Seikaly, Bangladesh’s Marina Tabassum, Sumaya Dabbagh of Saudi Arabia, and Palestine’s Dima Srouji.
“‘Beyti Beytak’ is a testament to the architectural heritage and creativity of the Arab world and the Global South,” says Lemonier. “The future Art Mill Museum was conceived as a multidisciplinary institution, one that will embrace this richness not as a regional footnote but as a core narrative.”
The curators have woven together an architectural narrative grounded in civic humanism, tracing three generations of architectural expression through thematic sections that include oases, mosques, museums, housing, and gardens, with a special focus on community centers and urbanism in Doha.
“The selected architects’ work forms a chorus of alternative futures; ones where architecture is not a luxury, but a deeply human practice of care, resilience, and place making,” says Anderson. In fact, one of the pavilion’s central propositions is that, architecturally, traditional knowledge may offer more-resilient solutions to climate change than high-tech design.
“It’s a paradox,” Lemonier admits. “You’d think triple-glazed facades and cutting-edge systems are more advanced — but mud, lime, and bamboo buildings often perform better in extreme climates. What we see with Yasmeen Lari is a reappropriation of vernacular materiality as climate adaptation.”
Throughout the exhibition, the curators draw a sharp line between architectural conceptualism and communal responsibility.
“Architecture is not sculpture,” Lemonier says emphatically. “It is a social and collective act. The architect must think of themselves not as an artist, but as a participant in a living society.”
This ethos is also reflected in the Doha-based segment of the exhibition, where the urbanism of Qatar is framed as humanist and collective. “Doha offers public parks, civic space, and an architecture of sociability,” Lemonier notes. “It’s not only about the buildings, it’s also about the empty spaces that allow a community to gather. It’s not about big gestures. It’s about how architecture allows a community to live, build with care, with humility, and with others in mind. For me, that’s the measure of success in design.”
Anderson adds: “As architects, we hold a responsibility not just to build, but to shape how we gather, connect, and see one another. Architecture isn’t static. It’s one of the most dynamic ways we experience humanity. This exhibition explores how space can be a vessel for empathy — especially in a time when technology often divides us. Yasmeen Lari’s work may be rooted in (Pakistan’s province of) Sindh, but its message transcends borders: it asks us to reflect on what it truly means to design for people.”
By placing Lari’s work in direct dialogue with the legacy of Hassan Fathy and by elevating regional voices too often overlooked, “Beyti Beytak” challenges dominant norms in global architecture. And it offers a compelling argument: Your home is not just yours — it belongs to the community, the climate, and the culture it serves.
For the Arab world and the broader MENASA region, “Beyti Beytak” positions architects as custodians of culture and agents of justice.
“This exhibition is not just about buildings,” says Lemonier. “It is about how we live together, how we welcome one another and how we shape a shared future through design.”
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