As we enter spring, a recent studio visit in Cairo proved to be the perfect companion for the occasion. Visions of singular, otherworldly landscapes and whimsical flora and fauna lifted my spirits in ways only true talent can.

I first met Bahaa Amer a few years ago during a show curated by Cairo-based gallery Le Lab for the winter 2023 edition of MENART Fair, held at Brussels’ beautiful Villa Empain. Bahaa’s childlike, soft-spoken demeanor struck a chord with me even before I realized he was the artist behind the works presented in dialogue with mine.

French artist Serge Gainsbourg once argued that the difference between major and minor art lies in the need for academic initiation. In his view, major arts like classical music or painting require formal training, whereas minor arts like pop music and street art do not. I advocate for a more open perspective—especially when considering artists like Basquiat and Michael Jackson, who challenge these classifications. Bahaa, for example, is classically trained, yet his work retains a raw, instinctive quality. His academic foundation enhances rather than restricts his vision, allowing his mastery to feel both refined and unrestrained. He also approaches every creative act with the same humility and dedication, whether restoring a neighbor’s old chair or engraving hieroglyphics with me on a few
pieces.

Born in 1977 in Cairo, Bahaa Amer earned a bachelor’s degree in art education from Helwan University in 2000, followed by a master’s in restoration painting from Cairo University in 2010. He also obtained a diploma in art criticism from the Academy of Arts in Cairo. He is the only artist to have exhibited alongside Adam Henein, one of the Arab world’s most influential sculptors, before his passing.

I highly recommend visiting Bahaa’s studio, where his works engage in dialogue with his private collection. Tucked away on the ground floor of a quiet street in Cairo’s Mokattam hills, the space offers a serene yet profound reflection of his artistic universe.

Like many, I seek parallels within my Western mindset to better understand cultural elements from other traditions, particularly my Egyptian heritage. Yet, these connections often dissolve—not just in translation, but in the very essence of ideas shaped by worlds that have undergone vastly different experiences.

When I visited Bahaa, I arrived with a few questions and my Google Translate app in hand, hoping to discover bridges that could continue to connect his work with people beyond the art world.

INTERVIEW

Bahaa, thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions. How are you today?

I’m good, thank you. Happy to be invited into your journal.

Thank You for talking to me Bahaa! You’re a painter, sculptor, visual artist, art conservator, and now a designer too? How do you see yourself first and foremost?

I consider myself primarily a painter, as this is what I love to do most. I also enjoy practicing drawing and sculpture. My work in the field of restoration has been incredibly valuable, as it has given me countless opportunities to experiment with materials and apply different techniques. My study of materials, industrial technology, and ancient painting has helped me tremendously.

Do you remember when the desire to pursue this path first appeared in your life? And do you know why?

It started at a very early age. Both my parents are artists who graduated from the College of Applied Arts. Without realizing it, I was constantly exposed to the creative process. Their enjoyment and passion for art was naturally transmitted to me. Having access to materials, the temptation to play with colors, and their large library all gave me opportunities to experiment early on.
My parents always encouraged me, and I held my first solo exhibition at the age of fifteen.

Do you have art references you could share?

The closest to me is probably Surrealism as a movement.
Ramzès Younan in Egypt and Picasso during his Surrealist phase.

How do you feel Egyptian contemporary art is perceived internationally? Can you elaborate?

Contemporary Egyptian and Middle Eastern art, in general are still not placed on the same level as Western contemporary art in most circles, which is understandable given the lack of proper exposure. However, this has started to change thanks to social media and the support of non-governmental and
academic institutions that promote creativity and cultural exchange. The Dalloul Art Foundation is a good example. Egyptian contemporary art is now more represented, albeit on a small scale, through auction houses such as Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and Bonhams, which have dedicated entire departments to Middle Eastern art and work across Arab countries. Western influence on Arab arts and culture was particularly strong during French and British colonial rule. Much of this influence exploited local resources and diminished indigenous artistic traditions, often reducing them to a “primitive” status. However, it also contributed to global recognition of ancient civilizations and their significance. The emergence of Egyptology, for instance, had a profound cultural impact, influencing Western masters like Gauguin, Picasso and Klimt to only name after few.

When I arrived in Egypt a few years ago, I knew little to nothing about its art scene, beyond Ancient Egyptian artifacts and the works of Mahmoud Said, Mahmoud Mokhtar, and Adam Henein, whom, I’m ashamed to admit, I only discovered in recent years. I had little exposure. At first, I ignorantly
perceived Egyptian paintings as a monotonous repetition of peasant imagery and Fayum portraits, endlessly reinterpreted through what I perceived as primitive or gauche abstract approaches.

My first real connection to Egyptian modern and contemporary art came years earlier when I bought a painting by Adel El Siwi for my sister and a Youssef Nabil photograph, which remains one of my most treasured possessions. Since then, I hope to have come a long way, but I still struggle to grasp a clear, comprehensive sense of Egyptian art beyond Ancient Egypt and Art et Liberté. To my credit, I feel the coverage and access to detailed information on artists in the arts of the Arab world have only recently become more accessible and engaging.

It wasn’t until the groundbreaking Art et liberté “Rupture, Guerre et Surréalisme en Égypte (1938-1948)” exhibition at the Centre Pompidou in Paris in 2016 that I truly became more attuned to what had been overlooked. Sam Bardaouil and Till Fellrath had curated a groundbreaking show. Are you
familiar with Art et Liberté?

Of course. I’ve known Art and Liberty (جماعة الفن والحرية) for as far as I can remember. The show you’re talking about was remarkable but I think it linked the movement to the Second World War when in fact, it was a revolutionary movement initiated by a desire to rebel against issues inside Egypt that didn’t have a direct link to the war since Egypt wasn’t involved.
The movement was short-lived as an artistic one, per se, but it had long lasting impact. I consider it the golden age of modern Egyptian art. It emerged and developed simultaneously with the global Surrealist movement and with equal force. This means that it was not subordinate to the global movement, but rather an active part of it, embodying its own Egyptian specificity.
I wish I had lived during that period as it was primarily a revolutionary movement that rebelled against art, class, domestic and foreign politics, ignorance, charlatanism, reactionary societal customs, classism, fascism, and colonialism.
It clearly contributed to a local reconsideration of the essence of art and artistic practices. Even after the group’s dissolution and its official end as an artistic movement, its influence persisted. Founded by the poet George Henein with a group of artists and writers like Ramses Younan, Kamel Telmisany, Rateb Sedik, Mayo, Salinas, Albert Cossery, Raúl Curiel, Amy Nimr, Roland Berners, Ida Kar and Lee Miller, they were later joined by Samir Rafi, Salem Habashi, Inji Efflatoun, AlGazzar, Maher Raef, Kamal Youssef, Hussein Youssef Amin, Mahmoud Khalil, Mahmoud Said and others.
Some members, notably Mahmoud Said and Inji Efflatoun, followed different paths, while others maintained the Surrealist ideology at the core of their work. Some even founded new movements, such as the Contemporary Art Group (جماعة الفن المعاصر).

Do you think that contemporary Egyptian art has made uncredited contributions to Western art?

Time only will tell. A small group of creatives residing abroad such as Youssef Nabil, Ahmed Morsy, and yourself, have managed to put contemporary Egyptian art and design on the map. This is due to talent, of course, but also to residency and integration into Western society. Egyptian contemporary art features many distinguished artists that deserve to be highlighted such as Nermine Hammam, Wael Shawky or Yasser Nabieil to only name a few.

So outside of the Art et Liberté movement and Ancient Egyptian art we have approximately 20 centuries of art that remain a bit of a blur, at least for me. I can’t even Google Egyptian Art without automatically being solely referred to Ancient Egypt. Were there other important movements in the arts of Egypt that stood out. I know it’s a vast question but could you give a quick overview if possible?

It’s a vast but very important question. Of course, answers can be found in Coptic and Islamic art history. However, it’s interesting to note that Mamluk rulers, such as Barquq—the first Sultan of the Mamluk dynasty in Egypt—commissioned remarkable artworks, like the ceiling of the Mosque Madrasa of Sultan Barquq, which I spent three years renovating. Yet, these works never bore the names of their creators. In contrast, imperial works commissioned by Chinese emperors were always signed. This cultural trait, combined with repeated historical rewrites by successive ruling powers, explains the lack of documentation and the many possibilities for future research and discoveries.

Can you tell us about the characters and singular landscapes in your work? What are they? How did you develop them?

My world exists in a space between dream and reality, populated by creatures that blend elements of animals, plants, birds, and humans. These beings possess a nature beyond their physical forms, carrying a fantastical quality and abiding by their own metaphysical laws. They emerge spontaneously on the surface, without sketching or prior planning, evolving organically as each piece signals the
beginning of the next within the broader framework of my series or theme at that moment. Ancient mythology is a constant presence in my work, deeply influencing my artistic vision. Several of my series are rooted in that inspiration. Notable examples include my Ishtar series and The Sweetest Haven series (a collaboration with Adam Henein) where Ancient Egyptian mythology is reenacted through characters from everyday life, groups of hybrid creatures, influenced by specific smells and sounds.

You mention Ishtar which happens to be one of my favorite of your works. Can you share how it came about? I recall you reflecting on how, throughout mythology, God was originally perceived as female, with her divine powers later appropriated by men. That feels like a particularly timely topic, could you elaborate?”

Yes. Firas Sawah is one of many authors whose work remains largely within the Arab sphere due to a lack of translation, but he wrote extensively about the mythology of Ishtar. I came across his work while exploring a central question during my restoration of the Temple of Isis in Luxor: Why do humans idolize womanhood? What is the form of this revered and worshipped woman, and who was the first to do so? What attributes did she possess that inspired him to place her on a pedestal?
These questions occupied me as I prepared the historical segment of the material for trainees during the restoration project with the US Research Center from 2011 to 2013. In the end, I discovered that Ishtar and Isis are, in essence, two manifestations of the same abstract conception of divinity.

How so?

Through my research, I found the following text which was found in upper Egypt and translated from an early Coptic text called “The Thunder Perfect Mind” found in the city of Nag Hammadi. It caught my attention.
Attributed to Ishtar, goddess of war and sexual love, it said:

For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am -the mother- and the daughter.
I am the members of my mother.
I am the barren one
and many are her sons.
I am she whose wedding is great,
and I have not taken a husband.
I am the midwife and she who does not bear.
I am the solace of my labor pains.
I am the bride and the bridegroom,
and it is my husband who begot me.
I am the mother of my father
and the sister of my husband
and he is my offspring.

Thus spoke the goddess of love, fertility, and growth about herself.

Her temples embodied the femininity of a mother, symbols of fertility, birth, creation, and abundance. Across ancient civilizations, she was worshipped under more than 300 names: Ishtar, Isis, Hera, Artemis, Aphrodite, Venus, and many others. I chose Ishtar as the subject of one of my painting series because she has endured in the human unconscious, imprinting within it an innate drive to reproduce, multiply, and persist.

Although male deities later emerged in patriarchal cultures, first worshipped as divine sons before developing independent identities and ascending to the heavens, they remained, in essence, the offspring of Ishtar. They never truly severed their connection to the Great Mother, instead complementing her as sons or consorts and retaining aspects of her power. Dumuzid in Sumer, Tammuz in Babylon, Adonis for the Phoenicians, Osiris in Egypt, Attis in Phrygia and Rome, Dionysus for the Greeks, each of these figures was revered in temples shaped in their image, reinforcing their role in fertility and renewal.

This concept inspired the paintings in my exhibition, nearly 30 works titled Ishtar: Body of Seduction, Magic of Myth. The series invites us back to the dawn of humanity, to the first woman, the Great Mother, the foundation upon which the journey of the human race was built.

Wow! For your ninth solo show in Egypt, your first design-focused presentation, you took over Le Lab, the very space where I had previously exhibited my first solo show. This time, your works took on a functional dimension, blurring the line between art and furniture. Do you now consider yourself a designer? And do you see this as a new direction in your creative journey?

The furniture pieces in Fruits of the Flaming Tree came about by chance. It was the first time exploring this aspect of creativity. As you know, the exhibition includes sculpture, painting, and design, all inspired by the fruit of the royal poinciana tree, which I associate with my childhood. I would collect them at the time without a specific purpose.
Years later, I revisited my collection, which sparked the sculptural series I began working on three years ago, a small portion of which was displayed at the COP27 Climate Summit. From there, the idea evolved: I began designing furniture based on my sculptural works, which in turn inspired a series of paintings. These paintings reflect the sculptural creatures, their shadows, and their metaphysical
interweaving. I don’t primarily consider myself a designer, but I thoroughly enjoyed working in the field of design. My focus was more on form, examining it from both a functional perspective and in relation to sculpture, exploring how the two could intertwine. I would love to continue experimenting with design in the future, alongside painting and sculpture, of course.

What are you currently working on?

I am currently developing an idea that is still in progress. It revolves around observing the imprint of staircases on the walls of demolished houses, what those stairs bore witness to before their removal, and the silent history embedded in the colors and incomplete drawings left behind on the walls. These remnants hold traces of lives once lived, moments once experienced, and stories that now exist only as fading impressions.

This next question is one I personally dislike answering, but I won’t spare you, sorry! Where would you like to be in 10 years?

Witnessing my own show at the Centre Georges Pompidou, and having finished the book I’m currently working on.

Rapid Round:

Name a city: Luxor

Name a country: France

Name an artist: Abdel Hady Al Gazzar

Name an artwork: Then What, 1965 Louay Kayali

Name a song: Sodade, Césaria Évora

Name a dish: Molokhia

Name an object: The cello

Bahaa, this has been an absolute treat! Thank you for sharing your time and insights.

Happy April!

Omar