Ahmed Mater 

‘Illumination X-Ray’ 

The latest Middle Eastern & Contemporary Art sale from the storied auction house Christie’s features works by 12 Saudi artists — highlighted in a “Saudi Now” section on the auction site, which Christie’s describes as “a carefully selected group of works by Saudi artists that trace the unique history of the Kingdom’s artistic evolution; from the development of a modernist language deeply enmeshed in the country’s cultural heritage, to innovative contemporary works that challenge perceptions of what Saudi art is and can be.” 

Mater, a qualified doctor, is perhaps the most famous of the artists contributing to the latter group. His work, Nour Kelani — Christie’s managing director, Saudi Arabia — wrote in an email to Arab News, “explores history and the narratives and aesthetics of Islamic culture, and continues to receive much-deserved growing regional and international acclaim.”  

The ‘Illumination’ series to which this diptych belongs, she continues “brings together traditional Islamic art and modern medicine — two subjects that are often treated as essentially separate and full of tense contradictions.” 

  Abdulhalim Radwi  

‘Peace’ 

Kelani says Radwi is “one of Saudi Arabia’s most respected Modernist artists.” Indeed, he is often considered the ‘father’ of modern Saudi art. He was one of the first Saudi artists to study overseas, earning his BA in Rome in the Sixties and living for a time in Madrid in the Seventies. His work, Kelani notes, “draws references to Saudi Arabia’s desert life, folklore and traditional architecture” and although Radwi was born in Makkah, he is most strongly associated with Jeddah, where he spent much of his adult life.  

This piece is one of Radwi’s later works, created in 2002, just four years before he died. It is expected to fetch between $20-30,000 at auction. 

Faisal Samra 

‘Performance #13’ 

The Saudi-Bahraini artist is “considered a pioneer of conceptual art in the Middle East,” says Kelani. “He incorporates digital photography and performance into a creative repertoire of work.” This piece comes from his “Distorted Reality” series, which features covered individuals in blurred motion. “I don’t like still water; I like it to be moving,” Samra told Arab News last year. “I’m exploring to find something different. The core of my research is man’s existence in our world, and how we react to it, and how the world reacts to him.” 

  Jowhara AlSaud 

‘He Said, She Said’ 

The Saudi-born artist “manipulates her photographs with drawing and etching in a process that explores both the impressionability of her medium and the cultural landscape around her, exploring … censorship,” Kelani explains. This work, created in 2009, is a prime example — the lack of facial features and the blurred lines are all conscious depictions of acts of self-censorship on the part of the artist. 

 Ayman Yossri Daydban 

‘Kunna Jameean Ekhwa’ 

Daydban is a Saudi-Palestinian artist whose work, says Kelani, “is both biographical and a commentary on the environment he grew up in.” This piece, described by Kelani as “iconic,” is from “Subtitles,” a series in which he selects stills from subtitled movies so the text — now decontextualized — is open to our own interpretations. Here, the text reads “We were brothers once.” 

Moath Alofi 

‘The Last Tashahud’ 

This work is one of a series of images in Alofi’s series of photographs that, according to Alofi’s website, “captures desolated mosques scattered along the winding roads leading to the holy city of Madinah.” These mosques, the text continues, were “built by philanthropists hoping to offer a haven for travelers, both of whom seek to reap the sacramental rewards of these structures.” 

  Nasser Al-Salem 

‘God is Alive, He Shall Not Die’ 

Al-Salem, Kelani says, “is a contemporary calligrapher whose work redefines Arabic calligraphy, challenging the boundaries of the traditional Islamic art by recontextualizing it in unconventional mixed-media forms.” Forms such as this one, for example, in which the word “Allah” is presented in neon above a mirror, thus repeating. 

DAMMAM: Near Hofuf, at the edge of Al-Ahsa Oasis, where the palms thin out and the desert hushes before turning to stone, Jabal Al-Qarah rises. Low and wide, its sculpted sandstone flanks have been worn into curves and fissures.  

I first saw the mountain just after dawn as the road, having coiled gently through date groves and irrigation canals, veers toward the open plain. In the distance, the mountain appeared — not dramatically, but deliberately. A long, earthen body stretching across the landscape, its folds catching light like the surface of an old parchment. 

“This is not a mountain in the European sense,” local historian Salman Al-Habib told me, his hand resting on the stone. “It’s not for conquest. It’s for shelter. For memory. It held the lives of our grandparents — sometimes literally.” 

He was referring to the caves that run deep into the heart of Jabal Al-Qarah. Stepping inside one, you feel the temperature drop immediately. It’s very still, and the acoustics are strange. Sounds stretch and settle. “ 

They say Judas Iscariot wandered in and was never seen again,” Al-Habib said. “Others say a goddess lived here. The mountain listens. It holds everything.” 

The caves have served a multitude of purposes: storing grain, sheltering travelers, even childbirth. The temperature, remarkably constant year-round, made the mountain a natural refuge.  

“Before fans or air conditioning, this was how we survived,” said Al-Habib. “We didn’t fight the climate — we listened to the land.” 

Geologist Dr. Layla Al-Shemmari echoed that sentiment. “The mountain is formed of calcareous sandstone and marl, deposited millions of years ago,” she explained. “Its structure naturally insulates, naturally ventilates. The people mirrored that in their homes — thick-walled, inward-facing, mudbrick construction pulled straight from the land.” 

She ran her hand along the cave wall, where moisture clung faintly even in the dry season. “The stone taught us architecture. It taught us how to live without taking too much.” 

But perhaps the most unexpected moment came just outside the caves, at dusk. A minaret stood in the shadow of the mountain, its golden tiles catching the final light. Behind it, the rock face glowed a soft amber, every crack and crevice thrown into relief, like a thousand sleeping figures stacked into one colossal wall. The call to prayer began, and something uncanny happened: the rock didn’t reflect the sound — it held it. The echo lingered, cradled by stone. 

“When I was young,” Al-Habib said quietly, “I believed the mountain was repeating the prayer. That it wanted to join in.” 

UNESCO’s 2018 recognition of the Al-Ahsa Oasis — of which Jabal Al-Qarah is a vital part — has brought conservation efforts and guided tours. But many locals say the real work is remembering. Not preserving the mountain like a fossil, but allowing it to continue what it has always done: listening, absorbing, reminding, providing. 

“If these rocks could speak, they wouldn’t lecture,” Al-Habib said. “They’d ask us why we stopped listening.” 

And maybe that’s what the mountain is doing: waiting, patiently, for silence to return, so that its stories, etched into sandstone and shade, might be heard again.