Fluid narratives and the power of imagination are at the core of Muhannad Shono’s work. Hailing from Saudi Arabia, the artist first was conflicted with his surrounding and rigid way of life, but with the years, he’s learnt to navigate it, especially now that the country is undergoing massive changes. “We are aware that we are going through a transformative moment of change,” he admits. “Part of that change now is an acceptance of the power of the human imagination to disrupt and reshape the world around us, to reform what we collectively think of as reality.”
In order to express himself artistically (he was first drawn to illustration), he studied Architecture, which has given him the knowledge to work on massive installations that he’s exhibited worldwide — for example, he represented Saudi Arabia at the 2022 Venice Biennale with The Teaching Tree. He also participated in the inaugural edition of the Islamic Arts Biennale in 2023, which is set to celebrate its second edition from January 25th to May 25th, 2025.
This year though, Muhannad has a bigger responsibility: he’s the Contemporary Art Curator. Being an artist himself, and with personal experience in international biennales, he’s an expert whose voice is much needed. “I still approach this process more as an artist than a curator,” he tells us in this interview. “When working with artists, I’ve sought out the established, who inspire me, whose work I admire, and in whom I see reflections of my own aspirations, as well as emerging artists. In these younger voices, I recognise a my earlier self – something familiar and resonant – and I believe in them as I once believed in myself.”
After graduating from Architecture, you went on to become an artist, but your practice is clearly influenced by your studies. When did you realise you wanted to build sculptures and installations rather than buildings?
It was actually the other way around. I knew I wanted to work with storytelling and illustration, but I wasn’t able to afford going overseas to study. Looking at the available options here, I thought that architecture was the closest thing I could do to create space for what I was interested in. Then it became the opposite, as architecture school taught me how to realise the imagined world, how to visualise and realise it, which has always been my concern. So in the end, it turned out to be a powerful tool as I learned to work spatially.
While architecture is usually functional (meaning it has a ‘practical’ purpose), art isn’t. It serves a function but it’s more symbolic. Do you think of art in practical terms somehow, or do you mainly look for symbolism and channeling your thoughts and beliefs?
I think of architecture as linked to the realisation of the imagination, so for me architectural work is also conceptual work. At least I am interested in conceptual architecture more than functional. Finding ways to create moments of disruption as a way of dislodging more formal and rigid realities.
I also see architecture as an embodiment of narrative. When you think of the church, the cathedral, the mosque, the temple – these are like books, they are narratives. They come from narratives and become quite rigid in their physicality and orientation, as ceremonial spaces to be interacted with in a certain way. They cement the narrative where they came from, so it becomes hard to reinterpret those narratives.
I’m drawn to the idea of allowing buildings to crumble or being able to change their formal state through concept. Conceptual architecture leaves room for interpretation and is not in the service of a rigid function or narrative, creating spaces for more fluid thought.
I also see architecture as an embodiment of narrative. When you think of the church, the cathedral, the mosque, the temple – these are like books, they are narratives. They come from narratives and become quite rigid in their physicality and orientation, as ceremonial spaces to be interacted with in a certain way. They cement the narrative where they came from, so it becomes hard to reinterpret those narratives.
I’m drawn to the idea of allowing buildings to crumble or being able to change their formal state through concept. Conceptual architecture leaves room for interpretation and is not in the service of a rigid function or narrative, creating spaces for more fluid thought.
In a 2022 video, you say: “I don’t think it was a choice for me to be an artist, I think it was a coping mechanism. I wanted to escape the reality of growing in Saudi Arabia when I was younger.” Why was that?
When we think of Saudi Arabia today, the word ‘change’ is predominant — we hear it all the time. We are aware that we are going through a transformative moment of change. Part of that change now is an acceptance of the power of the human imagination to disrupt and reshape the world around us, to reform what we collectively think of as reality.
When I was younger, I could say that the way things were was part of an attempt to reinforce a single narrative or perspective. I didn’t understand why there seemed to be a fear of the imagination. Now I do understand the real transformative power of it, as something that dwells within the mind – it’s personal, private, and reassuring. As you get older and you don’t give up on your imagination, it can really expand out of the mind and reshape the world around you.
When I was younger, I could say that the way things were was part of an attempt to reinforce a single narrative or perspective. I didn’t understand why there seemed to be a fear of the imagination. Now I do understand the real transformative power of it, as something that dwells within the mind – it’s personal, private, and reassuring. As you get older and you don’t give up on your imagination, it can really expand out of the mind and reshape the world around you.
“As you get older and you don’t give up on your imagination, it can really expand out of the mind and reshape the world around you.”
In that same video you also speak about how certain pages of the comic books you read as a teen were full of black ink to censor its content. Your current artistic practice is also mainly black — or super monochromatic, at least. Would you say these two things are somehow linked? Maybe you reappropriate the black that’s used to delete and eliminate to actually create something new, giving it a new, opposite meaning.
Yes, exactly. That act of omitting the image and the word, the act of redaction, acted as a highlight, only training the imagination to fill in what was taken away. This black pigment became something that I now use in my work – I repurpose it as a way to manifest the disruption of rigid narratives. So this void is not nothing, but it is a layered world from where I source the disruptive force of the imagination to dislodge entrenched narratives. It was a way I found to completely reenact and flip the script – when the black was used to redact, I used it to release the imagination.
You’re the Contemporary Art Curator of the upcoming Islamic Arts Biennale. I’d love to know more a bit how did this come to be — you had participated in the first edition as an artist but now you have a bigger responsibility.
I see it as a natural extension of my current practice. As said, we are experiencing a moment of change and I do want to be at the forefront of this attempt to cement something fluid and reinforce the power of the imagination in this critical time. To curate is an extension of this responsibility to help influence and shape this change. Also, it seems that my work taps into the spiritual in a way that I wasn’t as conscious of, which might have been the reason why I was asked.
As a curator, what criteria do you follow to select the artists and pieces we’ll be seeing next year? Do you think that being an artist yourself helps you have a more insightful, in-depth point of view when selecting the artists?
I still approach this process more as an artist than a curator. When working with artists, I’ve sought out the established, who inspire me, whose work I admire, and in whom I see reflections of my own aspirations, as well as emerging artists. In these younger voices, I recognise a my earlier self – something familiar and resonant – and I believe in them as I once believed in myself.
Most of the works are new commissions responding to the Biennale’s theme of All That Is In Between, where we are not interested in the binary of things, the heaven or the earth, the boundaries, but that liminal, layered, expansive space, embracing collective ways of seeing, imagining, and reading.
Most of the works are new commissions responding to the Biennale’s theme of All That Is In Between, where we are not interested in the binary of things, the heaven or the earth, the boundaries, but that liminal, layered, expansive space, embracing collective ways of seeing, imagining, and reading.
“I’m a strong believer that to change rigid beliefs one needs to approach issues not through direct conflict but through the softening of the mind.”
Before collaborating with the IAB as a curator, you presented your piece Letters in Light (Lines We Write). I’d like to know, what role does Islam play in your artistic practice? Or spirituality in a broader sense. In After the Fall (2022), you use a religious reference to the tree of knowledge after Eden burned, and The Mind Ship Exodus (2021) also references sacred texts in its title. What is it about the Quran and other related writings that inspires you so much?
Islam is a lived and living system, strongly woven into the culture and the social fabric. Growing up, to be spiritual or religious was part of the upbringing. And the Quran is full of narratives. I was always fascinated by the power of the narrative. Stories are a code, a language of the imagination. It is how we express ourselves, how we interact and share with other people.
As I am tackling this idea of the importance of ideas and narratives that are not rigid, I am also very much trying to reconcile the relationship between narratives that may refuse to change and my desire for narratives that exist in a more fluid state. Sometimes, only after you produce the work you begin to understand what it is that you are trying to make sense of for yourself, about who you are and what surrounds you.
As I am tackling this idea of the importance of ideas and narratives that are not rigid, I am also very much trying to reconcile the relationship between narratives that may refuse to change and my desire for narratives that exist in a more fluid state. Sometimes, only after you produce the work you begin to understand what it is that you are trying to make sense of for yourself, about who you are and what surrounds you.
You represented Saudi Arabia in the 2022 Venice Biennale, which is quite a feat for an artist. You say of the installation, The Teaching Tree: “Any restriction on the human mind only creates fertile ground for stronger and more resilient forms of expression. I am exploring ideas of creative resistance and the reforming of our lived world through the power and freeing of the human imagination.” Do you consider yourself a rebel? I’d say your work is quite rebellious and defying but not in an angry way, more in a poetic way.
I’m a strong believer that to change rigid beliefs one needs to approach issues not through direct conflict but through the softening of the mind. I’ve wondered about myself if I am able to defend or stand up for what I believe in. Is it even possible to go through life without having strong convictions one is willing to fight for?
As I get older, I know what I want to fight for when it comes to my beliefs. I’m not being rebellious, I’m being truthful to myself. There is a tendency, as we think of the change we are going through here in Saudi Arabia, to think that we are trying to forget the past, and that is something I’m intentionally fighting against through poetics and narratives.
As I get older, I know what I want to fight for when it comes to my beliefs. I’m not being rebellious, I’m being truthful to myself. There is a tendency, as we think of the change we are going through here in Saudi Arabia, to think that we are trying to forget the past, and that is something I’m intentionally fighting against through poetics and narratives.
From wanting to “escape the reality of living in Saudi Arabia” to representing the country around the world through your work shows an incredible evolution, and in a way, your commitment to carving your path. What was that journey like? And what is your relationship with your surroundings now?
I wasn’t escaping, but I was trying to understand how to read life in Saudi Arabia. To see the changes we are going through right now is gratifying, reinvigorating, and makes me want to extend my presence, and my voice, and my work here even more.
