Zahra Dostmohammed

Artist Statement

Zahra Dostmohammed
Artist Statement
Homage To Theresa Hak Kyung Cha - Memory, Longing, Remembering
2026
I never understood why we would sit at Sunday school learning to read a language, never taught the meaning of the words. We were meant to finish reading the Qur’an in Arabic, but it seemed understanding was optional. My family speaks Urdu, but growing up in California as the youngest child, English had already become the dominant language in our home. My brother and I have a fundamental understanding of Urdu when it is spoken to us, but I often smile and nod as I struggle to find meaning in familiar sounds.
Sitting in the mosque I would listen to the speeches in Urdu, my mother whispering translations so I could understand the teachings of the religion she has grown to love. Often I would sit in the back with friends and cousins tracing the patterns of the rugs, admiring the calligraphy on the walls trying to recall how to pronounce the letters. I am embarrassed I still cannot form a sentence, anxious at family gatherings that they will speak and I will stare blankly at them.
The linguistic disconnect from my family and culture lead me to find connection in other ways. I was drawn to the traditional aesthetics of henna, miniatures, textiles and calligraphy. I use the Arabic letters and punctuation that I have observed my whole life and I create paintings with layered text to entice and confuse the observer. The letters may form words or phrases, prayers and sayings, but the meaning remains partially obscured. In my oil paintings, I glaze many layers of paint to create visual convolution, sometimes introducing English translations upside down. The final layer is a stream of smoke rising and dissolving beyond the painting, a gesture toward nostalgia and memory.
When experimenting with monotypes I found myself interested in abstraction, allowing my hands to flow creating expressive curved lines through ink on glass. After a friend pointed out that these gestures resembled Arabic calligraphy, I realized I had been instinctively recalling the curves and rhythms of the script through my body. I began leaning into these forms with intention, creating calligraphic monotypes that drew from long-held visual memory without the pressure of linguistic comprehension. The resulting works evoke smoke-like movement and foggy, unresolved spaces.
I used to watch closely as a woman would apply mehndi from a henna cone onto my little hands, feeling the cool paste stain my fingertips and smelling the aroma of crushed leaves. I practiced mehndi as a child, and as my interest in fine art grew, I wanted to introduce this practice into my work. Painting mehndi onto a flat surface never felt satisfying, but applying slip onto ceramic vessels provided the right tactile response. Mehndi is an intimate, bodily art form, and translating it onto ceramics allows me to echo the physical sensations, care, and anticipation embedded in the practice.
My work often plays on the beauty of the past and a longing for connection. I hope that people like me, feeling disconnected from their roots, can find comfort in my work. To understand that we have the right to embrace this heritage even if we may feel like we don’t quite fit on either side. That it is never too late to search for language, community, and belonging. I am now learning Urdu, and soon I will begin to introduce more legible calligraphy into my work, allowing understanding to surface alongside memory.