Maysaloun Faraj has spent a lifetime tracing the shifting contours of memory, identity, and belonging. Born in Los Angeles in 1955, raised between the United States and Baghdad, and based in London for more than four decades, the Iraqi/British artist has built a practice that moves fluidly across painting, ceramics, and sculpture. With a background in architecture, Faraj’s work is distinguished by its sense of structure and rhythm, where geometry, spirituality, and luminous colour come together to explore harmony, homeland, and the fragile beauty of human existence.
Her art is deeply personal yet expansive, shaped by memories of بغداد, the cultural intersections of East and West, and a lifelong meditation on transience, displacement, and return. Alongside her own practice, Faraj has played a vital role in championing Iraqi and Arab art on the international stage, most notably through the groundbreaking exhibition Strokes of Genius: Contemporary Iraqi Art and her work with Aya Gallery. With pieces held in major museum and foundation collections around the world, her contribution to the global narrative of Middle Eastern modern and contemporary art is both significant and enduring.
In this conversation with Solo House, Maysaloun Faraj reflects on the idea of home as both place and feeling, the memories of Baghdad that continue to shape her work, and the ways architecture, spirituality, and cultural history inform her visual language. She also speaks about artistic responsibility, the evolving visibility of Iraqi art, and the curiosity and devotion that continue to drive her practice today.
You’ve described home as something both rooted and ever-shifting. After living between the US, Iraq, Paris, and now London for over four decades, how has your understanding of “home” evolved?
Home, for me, resides in the landscapes of the heart. Shaped by memory and identity, Home is both a place and a state of being, at once physical and transient. I carry Baghdad within me; her graceful palms, moonlit rooftops sleeping under the stars, the scent of petrichor, the sweet waters of Dijla and Furat, my grandmother’s continuous reciting of Dua’as for us (which I myself now do for my grandchildren), that deep sense of faith and so much more. I also carry the optimism, hopes and dreams of my parents from their youthful years in the US, where I was born. Paris offered its unique magic and beauty, while London continues to nourish me with its vibrant multicultural life and abundant artistic energy.
Over time, I have come to understand that Home is not fixed to one geography. It is where my heart beats, and where my creativity is sustained and alive. It shifts with each city and each chapter of life, weaving together belonging and longing, familiarity and discovery, permanence and impermanence.
Your early years in the United States and your formative years in Baghdad offered two very different cultural landscapes. How do these contrasting environments appear in your work today?
The contrasts between the US and Baghdad inform the tension and harmony in my work. From the US, I carry a sense of space and vastness; from Baghdad, a deep connection to memory, culture, and layered history. This interplay emerges in my paintings and ceramics through the balance of structure and narrative, abstraction and symbolism, colour and light.
In the Ithraeyat feature, you spoke about returning to Baghdad through memory rather than geography. What does that emotional journey look like for you when you’re creating?
Returning to Baghdad through memory is intimate and instinctive. I revisit streets, gardens, family gatherings, scents, and that unparalleled sense of belonging, and let these feelings surface in my studio. The process is meditative; each stroke, each line becomes a bridge between the past and the present, translating nostalgia into a tangible, living memory.
You trained in architecture before moving fully into painting and ceramics. How does architectural discipline continue to shape your compositions, your sense of space, and your approach to geometry?
Architecture provided me with a lifelong understanding of organisation and discipline in design, structure, proportion, and spatial relationships. These principles continue to inform my approach to painting and ceramics, especially in my use of grids, geometry, and symmetry. Even in abstraction, there is a quiet order that organises my compositions, giving them balance and resonance.
Your work often bridges Eastern and Western sensibilities from spiritual minimalism to vibrant chromatic energy. How consciously do you weave these influences together, and how much is instinct?
It is both conscious and instinctive. I am aware of the cultural and visual languages I draw from, yet much of the process is intuitive, responding to color, texture, and form in the moment. Over time, these sensibilities converge naturally, reflecting my lived experience across cultures.
Geometry and symmetry recur throughout your practice. What draws you to these structures, and what do they allow you to express about harmony, spirituality, or the human condition?
Geometry and symmetry are visual expressions of order and universality. They allow me to explore harmony, spiritual resonance, and the subtle balance between chaos and stability. They are a language through which I can contemplate human existence and the eternal patterns of life.
Much of your work feels like an act of remembrance, a way of preserving and reinterpreting fragments of homeland. How do you balance nostalgia with the reality of distance and time?
I embrace both. Nostalgia fuels my creativity, but I am also conscious of the present and the passage of time. Each work becomes a negotiation between memory and reality, a space where longing coexists with acknowledgement of distance, where fragments of the past are reshaped into something enduring and immediate.
Displacement, longing, and belonging are themes that resonate with many diasporic artists. How has your own journey shaped your visual storytelling?
Displacement has sharpened my awareness of memory and identity. My visual storytelling is rooted in translating these experiences into forms and symbols, palms, groves, and architectural structures (such as in my Kufic-inspired series) that speak to personal and collective narratives of loss, resilience, and cultural continuity.
Do you see your paintings as a personal archive or as part of a collective memory of Iraq and its artistic lineage?
Both. My work serves as a personal archive of lived experience while also engaging with Iraq’s cultural and artistic heritage, and, importantly, with broader art historical movements. Each piece embodies a dialogue between individual memory and collective history, creating a bridge between past and present.
You curated Strokes of Genius, the first major international exhibition of Iraqi modern art, and later edited the accompanying publication. Looking back, what impact do you feel that work had on the global visibility of Iraqi artists?
Strokes of Genius created a platform that introduced international audiences to Iraq’s rich modern and contemporary art scene. It positioned Iraqi artists within the global narrative, highlighting their innovation, diversity, and resilience, and challenged the often narrow perception of the region.
What challenges did you face in representing a nation’s artistic identity during a politically turbulent period?
The main challenge was balancing artistic vision with political realities. I sought to celebrate creativity and cultural heritage without reducing it to mere symbols of conflict. It required sensitivity, perseverance, and a commitment to letting the art speak on its own terms.
As someone deeply embedded in the Iraqi art movement, what shifts have you observed in how Middle Eastern art is contextualised and valued on the global stage today?
There is increasing recognition of the complexity and diversity of Middle Eastern art beyond stereotypes. Audiences and institutions are beginning to appreciate nuanced narratives, contemporary experimentation, and the continuity of artistic heritage, though true parity in representation remains a work in progress.
Your work with Aya Gallery played a pivotal role in championing Arab artists. What motivated you to create that space, and what do you think is still missing in the representation of Arab and Iraqi creatives?
Aya Gallery was born in continuation of what I began with the Strokes of Genius: Contemporary Iraqi Art project (the ground-breaking touring exhibition, publication and the first ever website to showcase Iraqi art at the time: incia.com), with the importance to provide visibility and opportunity for Iraqi artists, and Arab artists, to place their work in dialogue with the global art scene. While much progress has been made, there remains a need for sustained institutional support, international partnerships, and platforms that allow nuanced, authentic stories to emerge.
You’ve served as a judge for cultural awards and participated in international residencies. How have these experiences shaped your understanding of the responsibilities artists hold within their communities?
These experiences have deepened my understanding of artists as not only creators but also stewards of culture and collective memory. Serving as a judge and participating in international residencies has reinforced the responsibility artists hold to support emerging voices, preserve cultural heritage, and foster meaningful engagement within their communities, both locally and internationally. A clear example of this was the Facebook group Stay Home Draw Home, which I initiated during the pandemic lockdowns. Rooted in a spirit of solidarity, the platform invited artists, creatives, and enthusiasts to respond to the theme of Home, offering a way to connect and share glimpses of daily life during self-isolation. Over time, the project expanded to explore the broader notion of home and its emotional and cultural implications, alongside a parallel focus on self-portraits. This aspect resonated deeply, attracting participants from around the world who shared their work as acts of connection, reflection, and care, bringing light and a sense of peace during a period of profound global uncertainty.
Your practice spans painting, ceramics, and sculpture. What draws you to these different materials, and how do you decide which medium a concept belongs in?
Each medium carries its own possibilities and emotional register. Painting allows me to explore narrative and feeling through colour, which has always been my primary language of love and expression. Ceramics, rooted in working directly with earth, offers a deeply cathartic process and a heightened sense of materiality and touch. Sculpture, meanwhile, occupies space and engages the viewer physically, inviting movement, presence, and encounter.
Often, the choice of medium is intuitive rather than predetermined. Some ideas arrive already embodied in clay, while others call for the fluidity and immediacy of paint. The concept itself guides the decision, revealing the form and material through which it can speak most truthfully.
Do you find that certain emotions or memories translate more naturally into a specific medium?
Material and emotion are in constant dialogue, each shaping the other.
Can you walk us through a recent piece that felt particularly intimate or transformative for you?
Dreams of a Golden City (Oil pigment sticks on canvas 160x140cm London 2025) unfolds as a layered memoryscape, where time, place, and longing are woven into a single rhythmic field. The row of palms stands like quiet sentinels, repeating yet never identical, echoing both the endurance of Baghdad and the ritual of remembrance that runs through the Nakhal series. Above, the sun watches over the city, its heat a steady presence, mirrored in the Tigris below, so that sky and river become bound in reflection.
The fertile land beneath the palms is not simply ground, it is sustenance, history, and return. Dates fall from the trees, feeding the soil again, completing a cycle that moves from palm to earth to river, and back to life. This circularity mirrors the geography of Baghdad itself, held between the two rivers, and the emotional geography of memory, where what is lost is continually replenished through recollection.
The mashouf gliding across the Tigris carries a quiet human trace. It is modest, almost whispered, yet essential. It speaks of daily life, movement, and continuity, of a city experienced not through monuments but through lived moments, crossings, and pauses. The river, patterned and flowing, becomes a bearer of stories, carrying heat, light, and memory along its surface.
In this work, Baghdad appears not as a literal city but as a golden state of being, shaped by childhood impressions, sensory recall, and affection. The painting holds grief and tenderness together, offering the city as both remembered and dreamed, rooted in the palm groves of the past and sustained by the act of painting itself.
Themes of transience, impermanence, and the fragility of human existence recur in your work. Where do these contemplations stem from?
They stem from life’s rhythms, personal loss, and the fragility of memory and place. Experiencing change, migration, and grief has sharpened my awareness of impermanence, inspiring reflections on resilience, beauty, and the delicate balance of existence.
You often speak about art as a form of spiritual alignment. How does spirituality, in its broadest sense, shape your creative intuition?
Spirituality, for me, is both a belief system and a state of alignment. It shapes my creative intuition by cultivating patience, attentiveness, and deep listening. Grounded in faith, yet open and expansive, it allows me to look beyond the visible surface of things and to sense the subtle relationships between form, colour, rhythm, and meaning. From this space, the work can emerge with an emotional and existential resonance that is felt rather than explained.
The process of making each artwork becomes a form of prayer, a lament, and a ritual of presence. Every repeated gesture and every stroke carries intention, a quiet dialogue with the ultimate creative force in which I believe. In this way, spirituality is not separate from the work. It is embedded in the act of making itself, guiding the hand, steadying the mind, and allowing faith and inner harmony to shape the final form.
What questions are you currently exploring in your work, artistically, emotionally, or philosophically?
I am exploring how memory and identity transform across time and space, how cultural heritage can evolve without losing its roots, and how beauty and contemplation can be a form of resistance in a fragmented world.
Your work exists in major museums and global collections, yet you continue to evolve. How do you reflect on your place in the wider narrative of Middle Eastern modern art?
I see my practice as both a continuation and an expansion of Iraqi artistic lineage. My work honours the past while engaging with contemporary forms and ideas, contributing to a dialogue that situates art from ‘our’ part of the world, within a global, interconnected narrative.
What do you hope future generations of artists, especially Arab women, take from your journey?
I hope they see the value of persistence, authenticity, and cultural pride. That they understand the importance of nurturing both technical mastery and emotional depth, and that they feel empowered to tell their stories without compromise.
After decades of creation, memory-making, and cultural advocacy, what remains the driving force behind your practice today?
Curiosity, devotion, and a profound sense of responsibility to memory, to culture, and to the possibility of creating work that transcends time and place remain the driving forces behind my practice. The desire to explore, connect, and bear witness continues to lie at the heart of everything I do. I am committed to never stopping learning. I hold a BSc in Architecture from Baghdad University in 1978. However, now, at the ripe young age of 70 + (wink, wink) I find myself contemplating furthering my education in painting at the Royal College of Art, London. So let’s see what 2026 has in store, hoping and praying it brings much-needed compassion, peace and light world-over.
