The Archive

Streets remember what we try to forget. Stone carries the weight of voices long silenced, and every window, every shadowed doorway, is a witness to what once was. Here, brides rise with the drumbeat of vanished rituals. Here, a self-portrait dissolves into celestial script. Here, boats rest and pause, anchored in time, while sanctuaries fade into ash and mist. And in Balad, beauty dances with the beast — heritage strung with lights, fabric, and song. These are not merely places. They are living ruins, trembling with memory. Cities that breathe through cracks, whispering histories into our present. Forgotten, yet never gone.

Alongside my personal series, some works were created in dialogue — with institutions, events, or private requests. They are not part of Noctaré’s inner myth, but they carry the mark of collaboration, recognition, and trust. Each commission is a conversation: between artist and audience, between vision and purpose. Whether painted for a conference, an occasion, or a collector, these works extend my practice beyond the studio — bridging art with community, and memory with ceremony.

Every path begins in shadow — with first marks, first visions, first mistakes that were not mistakes at all. In these canvases live the seeds of what was to come: veils studied, compasses danced, blossoms held between silence and devotion. Here is the Harbia, fierce in her memory. Here is the forgotten path, lit only by its own loss. Here is a body learning how to hold paint, and a hand discovering that practice itself can be prophecy. This series is not polished, not complete — and that is its truth. It is a record of origins, and the omens hidden within them.

Not all works emerge into clarity; some belong to the margins, to experiment, and to shadow. This archive gathers paintings that resist conventional placement. They are works born of rupture and inquiry: a codex that reimagines Da Vinci through abstraction, a city conjured in thirty minutes of gold and fire, a dialogue painted within the dream of Van Gogh, a body transfigured into scar, relic, and ritual. Taken together, these pieces form a record of artistic risk — gestures where influence is confronted, techniques are tested, and memory is pressed into material. The Shadow Archive is less a series than a repository: a place for paintings that explore descent, trespass, and transformation. They reveal the artist not only in resolution, but in experiment — in the very act of searching for form within the dark.

They were born from starlight and silence, daughters of the sky, dreamers of the infinite. Here, the Hamsa opens its eye upon the galaxy. Here, silence is orchestrated into music that no ear can contain. Here, color arrives like revelation, and offerings are breathed into the cosmos like fireflies. This series belongs to vision and to dream — to the astral wanderings that arrive after love, after loss, after surrender. Every canvas is a doorway, each brushstroke a constellation, each daughter a reminder: we are not only of the earth, but of the vastness that holds it.

Not portraits, but declarations. A lifted finger, a masked glance. Silence as power. Pause as performance. Archetypes distilled into oil — statements that linger long after words are gone.

Before language, there was wind. Before memory, there was water. Before story, there was the silent breath of the earth. This series is born of that primal echo — horses gilded in dust, lions who see differently, owls that hold the weight of remembrance. The sea speaks in silver, waves shatter into flame, and even Jeddah’s horizon becomes a breath carried on foam. Each canvas is not only a painting, but an invocation of the first forces: storm, dust, silence, tide, and eye. Here, nature does not exist to be admired — it exists to remind us we are part of its pulse, its memory, its endless beginning.