Art that connects worlds: ftNFT phygital space showcases three distinct voices
The ftNFT Phygital Space in Dubai Mall continues to evolve as a vibrant hub of innovation, empathy and artistic expression, spotlighting bold and diverse voices from across the region and beyond. From exclusive exhibitions to avant-garde partnerships, ftNFT is redefining what it means to experience art.
Among the standout showcases are thought-provoking exhibitions by pioneering Emirati artist Abdulla Lutfi, visionary Turkish creator Zeynep Çilek Çimen and acclaimed Iranian artist Siamak Azmi.
'Artistic. Autistic. Abdulla', the acclaimed exhibition by Abdulla Lutfi, invites visitors into the artist's distinctive monochromatic world. Known for his candid black-and-white illustrations, Lutfi explores themes of neurodiversity, identity and imagination through emotionally resonant visuals. A highlight of the showcase is his eye-shaped canvas, 'UAE Through My Eyes' — a tapestry of heritage and modernity that captures the soul of the nation through majestic desert landscapes, futuristic skylines and cultural vibrancy. The exhibition, enriched with NFT integrations and storytelling screens, honours inclusion and imagination in equal measure.
'I believe art has the power to make people feel seen,' Lutfi reflects. 'This exhibition is not just about me — it's about the conversations we start and the understanding we build together.'
In another powerful installation, Zeynep Çilek Çimen's 'Unfolding Narratives' fills the space with colour, symbolism and poetic rhythm. Her work bridges past and present, personal and collective identity, inviting viewers into a contemplative journey supported by Turkish Airlines. With each composition, Çimen creates a visual language that speaks to transformation, tradition and the delicate act of becoming.
Adding a new dimension to the ftNFT Phygital Space's curatorial vision is Siamak Azmi, an Iranian artist whose expressive, semi-abstract works fuse architectural form, gestural abstraction and psychological depth. Azmi's practice is rooted in exploring the interplay between inner reality and urban structures, often depicting surreal, fragmented cityscapes that reflect the complexity of contemporary life. With exhibitions spanning from Tehran to Paris and Venice, Azmi's presence brings an international edge to the space's mission of creative dialogue.
'At ftNFT, we believe in art as a bridge — between worlds, between people and between realities both digital and physical,' says Henrik Sargsyan, director at ftNFT. 'These exhibitions are a celebration of connection, diversity and the unexpected ways creativity allows us to understand each other.'
With more exciting events on the horizon, ftNFT continues to lead the way in blending physical and digital realities, offering a platform where the next generation of artists, collectors, and visionaries converge.
The future of art lives here. And it's only just beginning.
The exhibitions are presented in the ftNFT Phygital Space — a gallery unlike any other, that merges traditional art with Web3 innovation. Located in Chinatown, Dubai Mall, the space invites guests into an immersive journey through NFTs, physical installations and storytelling.
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Harpers Bazaar Arabia
9 hours ago
- Harpers Bazaar Arabia
'Find What You're Good At And Unleash It…' Ola Farahat Is The Harper's Bazaar Saudi Summer 2025 Issue Cover Star
The style star on social media pitfalls, striving to live a simple life and her love for Saudi Arabia 'The Ola Farahat on Instagram is different from the real me – the one my friends and family know,' the 35-year-old tastemaker tells Harper's Bazaar Saudi. 'I wouldn't say I have two different personalities, but at the same time there's a difference.' When asked what advice she'd give others who see her 1.4 million-strong, impressively monetised following on Instagram and strive to emulate her, she urges, 'Start. Get that post up.' She adds, 'You have to stay true to yourself. And it can be challenging. Especially when working with huge brands and trying to do the best that you can. Make sure what you are offering is different and unique – and is you. A lot of times nowadays I feel like so many personalities have the same style across the board, especially when something is trending. But it adds value when you put your stamp on it. Find what you are good at and unleash it.' 'I started visiting Saudi shortly after I met my husband and got engaged,' she says. 'I feel a real sense of connection with the community and with his family and friends. I feel like I have a really great insight into Saudi culture thanks to them. My fondest memories? When I took Lily for the first time. It was really special. We went to the mall, and we were getting spotted, and so many people recognised and loved Lily. It was really cute, because they referred to Lily as 'their girl', because she's fully Saudi like her dad. My daughter knows her culture really well. We always talk to her about it. It's really important. Also, there's a very strong influence from her dad and his side of the family. She sees them a lot, and I think she's just picking up on everything that she needs to know from them.' Sage advice from someone who has collaborated with the likes of Gucci, Swarovski and Estée Lauder, and is known for her consummate professionalism; a broken toe didn't deter her from getting on her flight to shoot this story in Jeddah. The fact that we photographed her in the Kingdom was also a huge draw, as Ola feels very much at home there, given her other half, Hashim Said Hashim – whom she first met in the summer of 2018 – is Saudi, as is her three-year-old daughter Lily. It seems like Lily is getting used to being in the limelight, like her high-profile mother. A constant on front rows of catwalk presentations, and at the hottest fashion parties, Ola's status in the style scene has been cemented over the years. It's not something she takes for granted; 'Just the access that I get is super exciting,' she smiles excitedly. 'Sometimes it's surreal being at a show of a designer that I love – just seeing the collection first hand – most of the labels that I work with are actually my dream brands since I was a child. Being at shows is a major highlight. Or just even being gifted a new drop, like a bag. You see a bag drop, and then suddenly you get it in the mail! I feel like, wow, this can't be real.' Like in any career, there are major highs that it feels validating to reach. 'A major milestone would have to be my Harper's Bazaar Junior [S/S2023] cover. That was huge. I couldn't believe I was shooting the cover – and with my daughter! Omhigosh! This cover is another milestone,' she gushes. Not bad for someone who fell into this role, while working a desk job in strategy and finance. 'There were just four or five of us at the time. I guess it was easier then as there weren't that many people sharing as much,' she recalls, thinking back on how she got her start just by having a profile on an open setting. Ola is being modest of course. What attracts fans is the fact that she puts her own spin on things. 'I always like to add that bit of oomph,' she says, smiling. 'My style is timeless, but I like to spice up a look. So if I am wearing an all-nude outfit, I will add a pink heel for a pop of colour. I like to spice it up.' It is no wonder she was handed the Arab Fashion Influencer of the Year gong at the recent Emigala Fashion & Beauty Awards. And like all jobs – though she admits, 'It doesn't feel like one. When you really love something it doesn't feel like a job' – there are always challenges. 'Sometimes I do get exhausted. I think every creator feels pressure at one point or another. Sometimes I go off the grid and want my peace. But the algorithm doesn't help. It is clear that the more you share the more you grow. I am not immune to it but I have gotten better.' She also touches on the fact that it is tricky to portray the perfect, luxury-filled life when there are so many conflicts in the world at large, and the Middle East in particular. 'Considering what our region is going through, it's challenging to talk about things like fashion, or material things when so many more important things are happening in the world.' Many in her field expand their portfolio and diversify, moving away from concentrating purely on their feeds. That's something Ola is definitely considering too. 'In my industry I admire Negin Mirsalehi,' she name-checks the former Bazaar Arabia cover star who launched her own extremely successful hair-care line Gisou. 'I like how she founded her own brand, managed to scale it and make it her passion. It is such a success story. Now she is competing with huge international brands. That is something to admire. It makes me feel like I should focus on building my own brand. It takes a lot of dedication to get to where she is. I would definitely consider expanding into other roles. As time passes and as I get older, my interests evolve so I would love to get into new spheres, maybe health and wellness as I am really passionate about that. Time will tell!' In the meantime, she's balancing her current schedule with motherhood. Having a daughter has made her even more acutely aware of the dangers faced by those in her industry. Would she want Lily to follow in her online footsteps? 'Yes and no. I think kids these days are on social media way too soon. I started pursuing it in my mid-twenties and I still found it difficult. It affected my mental health, especially in the beginning. I was still finding myself and who I was. I want her to live her life away from social media. To have friends and live in the now rather than in this digital world. But when she has built her character outside of the internet, and has a good head on her shoulders, then I would love for her to follow in my footsteps. There is so much external noise, and so much criticism; you have to have a lot of confidence to keep going and be true to who you are. Sometimes you can fall into the trap of wanting a platform but not being authentic to yourself, or copying another creator or just not being who you are. I want her to know who she is and to love herself.' Starting a family is a deeply personal decision, which is why it was perhaps surprising that Ola was so candid about the difficulties she had conceiving – even talking about the miscarriage she suffered. 'I was very honest when it came to my IVF journey,' she says. 'I had reached a point where I was tired of sharing the most perfect parts of my life. I wanted to show people that this pregnancy didn't just happen. People often look at my life and think: like she just happens to get married, she just happens to get another designer handbag, she happens to be on another vacation. For the first time in my life I thought to myself, 'I don't just want to announce this and pretend that it is just another thing that has happened seamlessly in my life.' I wanted people to see that I struggled. I struggle every single day. I wanted them to relate to me. I am someone who specialises in luxury and fashion – honestly, it is not the most relatable thing to do – but in this instance I felt that a lot of women would relate. And they did. It was something I was so scared to share but it was crazy how positive it was. It was crazy how I suddenly joined so many other journeys as people shared their own paths to IVF, told me about their miscarriages and birth stories. Everyone was messaging me. I tried to be there for as many women as I could. I have absolutely no regrets about that.' The response also led to her knowing, that 'I would share my motherhood journey.' Having a child fundamentally changed everything, and Ola laughs that it wasn't something she had braced for. 'Oh boy did it change my path! My brain rewired. I am a new person. People don't talk about this this enough – no one warns you – my friends changed, my interests changed, how I had fun changed… I went back [to work] to do all these trips and things I used to before having Lily and it just didn't feel good anymore. I wasn't prepared for that. It took me a while to adjust. I changed completely. The way that I spend my time now is so selective. I would rather spend all my time with Lily if I could choose.' Luckily, her husband 'has been supportive since day one. Honestly we are very choosy about what we share. We love to share bigger moments, birthdays and things like that. We don't share the little moments, our day-today details. But 100 per cent he has been very supportive.' Given all the glamour that surrounds her, Ola, who grew up in Ontario, Canada is remarkably grounded. She doesn't flinch when asked what she hopes for for her family, saying instantly: 'A simple life. I think simplicity is so valuable. I want Lily to have that slow life. Real friends. I don't want her to feel that pressure that kids are feeling a lot these days when it comes to their appearance, to what they own… I wish her a slow, simple, nice life.' And with a mother like Ola guiding and protecting her, it seems like Lily has a very powerful role model to follow. Lead Image: Long Sleeve Fading Flora Print on Georgette Maxi Dress in Green and Pink with Contrast Cuffs, Self-tie Bow and Detachable Tonal Lining; Mary Jane Ballerinas in Beige Ebony Original GG Canvas with Bow and Light Gold Horsebit Detail; Earrings in Gold Toned Metal with Shell Motif, POA, all Gucci Group Editor in Chief: Olivia Phillips. Group Managing Editor: Natasha Faruque. Photography: Ben Cope. Styling: Nour Bou Ezz.
The National
11 hours ago
- The National
Plestia Alaqad published her Gaza diaries 'for children of a free Palestine'
Plestia Alaqad doesn't want her readers to believe that anything in her book, The Eyes of Gaza, really happened. And even more so, she prays you'll never be able to relate. 'I don't want to live in a world where people are relating to the book,' Alaqad tells The National. 'My target audience is the upcoming generations who will read this book in a free Palestine, and they will be in disbelief. They'll be like, 'how is that possible? How did this happen? How was that OK?' 'I'm hoping when they read it, the world will be a better place – so much better that they won't even believe what I wrote really happened to us, or that such an evil existed,' Alaqad continues. But as her book – which collects her diaries from October 7 through the day she was forced to flee her home and the months that she watched the tragedy continue from afar – hits shelves across the world, it's still all too real to ignore. 'We say the Nakba happened in 1948 but in reality it never stopped. Today, we're in 2025 and the Nakba is still continuing. There is still a genocide that is unfolding in the Gaza Strip. Palestinians are getting killed – are getting starved. And we don't know when the killing will stop,' says Alaqad. Alaqad was 21 when the war began, living with her family in Gaza and just beginning her career as a journalist. She dreamt of one day becoming a writer – not of tragedy, but of beauty. 'I was always thinking that my first book would be poetry, or a novel. Something with positive vibes,' says Alaqad. But overnight, she became one of the most essential voices reporting from inside the besieged enclave, publishing short, emotionally raw Instagram videos that reached millions. For many struggling to process what they were seeing or to parse conflicting narratives – Alaqad was not just the eyes of Gaza, but its heart and soul. 'In Gaza, I feel we always take on jobs that can help our homeland, that can help our people. The reason I wanted to become a journalist is to show the world through my eyes – to cover what was happening and to humanise us,' says Alaqad. As vital as her videos were in the first days of the catastrophe, the words she wrote when she put her camera down are quietly more devastating. In her first few entries, her instincts are more logical and immediate – where to go, what to carry, how to keep herself and her loved ones safe – but as the violence grows harder to fathom, her dispatches grow more internally complex and scattered. For Alaqad, that was the intention. 'I want the reader to feel all sort of emotions – to feel sad at a point, to feel hopeful at a point and then to feel hopeless. Because if you're going to see Gaza through my eyes, that is the way I truly felt about it. You start your day feeling like, 'Oh my God, I'll get killed today. There isn't food, there isn't anything. Oh, my God, what is this life?' Then five minutes later, a little child is being kind to you, and you start feeling optimistic. For me, this is Gaza.' At times, the horror she describes is interrupted by humour, such as children worrying about donkeys left behind in the rubble, or friend clutching a houseplant while fleeing. Alaqad understands the dissonance. 'Humour is a coping mechanism,' she says. 'We don't laugh because it's funny. We laugh because it's the only way to survive.' 'It's part of who we are. I met a Lebanese comedian several months ago, and my friends and I were telling him stories and laughing. He said to us, 'I'm confused, am I allowed to laugh with you? Will that be offensive?' I told him: 'yeah, you can laugh – not because it's funny, but because that's how we get through it,' says Alaqad. And that tension – between reporter and refugee, storyteller and subject, urgency and uncertainty – defines not only the book, but also Alaqad's life since. Since leaving Gaza with her family on November 22, 2023, the young writer has struggled to move forward with her life, or even find time to be Plestia the young woman rather than Plestia the platform for peace. 'Whenever I try to move forward in life, it feels like what's happening in Gaza pulls me backward. Even if I'm physically outside, with access to food, clean water – I can't help but be in Gaza in my heart,' says Alaqad. As a result, she's paused her master's studies, turned down full-time jobs, and refuses to commit to long-term projects. 'How can I plan anything when I don't know when the genocide will stop?,' she asks. 'Earlier this year, when they announced a ceasefire, I thought the moment the borders opened, I'd go back. I even started talking to different organisations that can help me enter Gaza, but of course, none of them were able to help,' Alaqad explains. Alaqad holds on to one guiding hope – that when the violence ends, her real work will begin. 'I want to go back to report on the rebuilding of Gaza, and that's holding me back from doing a lot of things. In the back of my brain I'm like, 'maybe in two days, maybe in one week, the genocide will be over.' So I can't commit to this or that, to sign a contract, because I need to be able to go back the moment it's possible. 'I've always wanted to start a podcast, but now is not a good time. What if I start talking to guests, and it ends, and I'm able to go back? Then I'll have to drop everything, and that wouldn't be fair to everyone, and so on. So I just don't do it. I can't just plan my life minus Gaza. I'm always holding on to the hope that the genocide will be over.' In the meantime, as she takes speaking engagements across the world, works freelance and continues to raise awareness about the death and starvation where her home once stood, she's spending her free time reading. She's reading a lot of bestsellers new and old – Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and various works by Agatha Christie. 'I think it helps me understand how the world works. I stick with bestsellers, because I want to know why these books resonated with millions of people. Because when you understand this, you understand what people are interested in. 'There are many books, in my opinion, that should sell millions of copies, and they don't. I think it's because people don't want to know this truth. It will make them feel bad about the world we live in. 'People want easy truths. Everyone wants to feel better about themselves. No one wants to feel like, 'Oh my God, there's a lot happening in Gaza, but I'm helpless. There's nothing I can do. That's an ugly feeling that no one wants to pick,' says Alaqad. In many ways, Alaqad has become disillusioned with the world outside of Gaza. Each day, as she posted the day's tragic updates, a part of her hoped that the world would come to the rescue overnight – waking up each day to find the blaze only growing greater. 'When I started writing, I was 21 years old. Now, I'm 23, turning 24, and I feel I've grown up a lot. I was naive. I no longer have a lot of expectations for the world because of what's happening. I now know it isn't only about Palestine. I have realised and understood just how ugly the world can be.' But each day, rather than sink into despair, Alaqad finds the strength to stay positive. It's a hope that's defined her people since the tragedy began nearly 80 years ago – and a light that she will never let extinguish within her. 'I'm always thinking, 'what's the impact you're going to leave on people? What's the message or purpose behind the work you're doing? Like, if you were to die today, would you be satisfied with what you're doing?' I live for truth – that is my purpose.'
Khaleej Times
14 hours ago
- Khaleej Times
Meet the 17-year-old Dubai sculptor shaping emotions into clay
In a city synonym with gloss and grandeur, it's easy to overlook the quiet power of something imperfect. But for 17-year-old ceramic sculptor Samaira, imperfection is the point. 'People assume at my age, emotions can't be this complex,' she says, her tone as calm as it is self-assured. 'But teenagers notice a lot. We're constantly observing what people avoid saying.' Samaira doesn't just notice these emotions—she sculpts them. Grief, detachment, self-sabotage, psychological tension. These aren't just themes in her portfolio; they're the emotional clay that binds her work together. Her hand-built sculptures—often raw, cracked, and human—don't ask for attention. They command presence. 'Sculpture is different from drawing or painting because it's physical. The clay won't stay how you want it,' she says. 'It forces you to respond emotionally and intuitively. That's what I love.' Art with a pulse Born and raised in Dubai, Samaira grew up around the city's pursuit of perfection. But it's precisely this drive for polish and poise that she wants to challenge. 'There isn't always space here for people to openly talk about how they're really feeling,' she explains. 'That's probably why I use art as a space to explore the things people don't always say out loud.' Her process is deeply reflective. Loose sketches come first, followed by hours of hand-shaping, carving, and staging—each movement deliberate yet intuitive. Unlike most artists her age, she doesn't chase the idea of 'beauty' in a traditional sense. If anything, she disrupts it. One of her recent sculptures—a human head originally intended to feature horns as a symbol of self-sabotage—ended up with a pronounced crack across the top after the horns broke mid-process. Instead of starting over, she leaned into the damage. 'The piece became more powerful without the horns,' she says. 'The crack on the head felt like a wound caused from within. That shift made the story stronger.' Texture, too, is intentional. Smooth surfaces often represent emotional detachment; raw patches and visible fingerprints signal tension or vulnerability. Her work rarely features colour—clay, she believes, doesn't need embellishment. 'Once I've captured what I need to emotionally, I stop," she says. "Especially with faces—overworking ruins the expression. Sometimes the emotion lies in the flaws.' Animal imagery has also crept into her recent pieces. A fascination with psychology and symbolism led her to experiment with combining human and animal forms—spiders, horns, tentacles—as metaphors for internal struggle and entrapment. 'We assign human traits to animals all the time: aggression, fear, survival. Combining the two makes people pause and reflect. That discomfort is useful—it mirrors how we bury our darker emotions.' Beyond the studio For Samaira, art isn't just self-expression—it's a platform for change. One of her earlier sculptures explored marine pollution through the lens of human vulnerability. While working on it, she led a campaign within her school to reduce plastic waste from the canteen. 'It wasn't just a concept I sculpted. It was something I lived,' she says. 'I think young artists today have a responsibility to speak to what matters.' This summer, she's taking that responsibility further—beyond galleries and school corridors. Samaira is headed to India, where she'll spend part of her break hosting art workshops for children and young adults. She is set to launch Abilasha, a program she founded to empower underprivileged students through clay art. Abilasha means 'ambition' in Punjabi, and the entire purpose of the initiative, she says, is to give students the one thing that is often out of reach in their environment: a sense of possibility. 'I've realised how many young people struggle to talk about their emotions. Art gives them a way in,' she says. 'The goal is to introduce clay not just as a craft, but as a tool for emotional exploration.' It's a full-circle moment—taking something deeply personal and making it public, generative, and communal. In Dubai, Samaira is part of a quiet countercurrent—one that doesn't seek attention through rebellion, but through radical honesty. 'I'm not trying to shock people,' she says. 'If someone feels something when they see the work—even if it's discomfort—that's the point. That means the emotion is real.' Samaira continues to explore the intersections of mental health, symbolism, and form, and her sculptures offer a refreshing alternative to the curated perfection of social feeds and skyline silhouettes. They invite reflection. They allow stillness. And most of all, they give form to the feelings we often leave unspoken. 'Art can be more than something you look at,' she adds. 'It can be something that holds space for conversations we're not having elsewhere.'
