ESSENCE
Sarab is an Arabic word for mirage. In my work, it does not describe illusion, but the distance between what the eye sees and what the spirit attempts to understand.
The name grew from the way I see the human being: visible, yet never fully contained; approachable, yet never wholly possessed. One may believe they have arrived, while reaching only an image of their own making.
I am the artist. Sarab is the vision that gathers my works, while Sarab Art Studio is the space that holds this vision, presents it, and preserves its trace.
Through wood, I attempt to give physical form to what often remains unseen: memory, silence, burden, movement, heritage, and the traces people leave behind.
ESSENCE
Sarab is an Arabic word for mirage. In my work, it does not describe illusion, but the distance between what the eye sees and what the spirit attempts to understand.
The name grew from the way I see the human being: visible, yet never fully contained; approachable, yet never wholly possessed. One may believe they have arrived, while reaching only an image of their own making.
I am the artist. Sarab is the vision that gathers my works, while Sarab Art Studio is the space that holds this vision, presents it, and preserves its trace.
Through wood, I attempt to give physical form to what often remains unseen: memory, silence, burden, movement, heritage, and the traces people leave behind.
ARTIST STATEMENT
I do not begin with a philosophy to impose upon the work.
I begin with the wood and allow the work to lead me toward its meaning.
Philosophy does not precede the work or determine its path before it begins.
The work comes first: from the material, from the hand, and from the moment the form begins to emerge. Philosophy follows, attempting to read what has happened rather than control it.
Imagination begins to die when a work becomes only the execution of a fully formed idea. I therefore leave room for the material to resist, for the form to change, and for meaning to arrive later.
Philosophy follows the work. It does not lead it.
ARTIST STATEMENT
I do not begin with a philosophy to impose upon the work.
I begin with the wood and allow the work to lead me toward
its meaning.
Philosophy does not precede the work or determine its path before it begins.
The work comes first: from the material, from the hand, and from the moment the form begins to emerge. Philosophy follows, attempting to read what has happened rather than control it.
Imagination begins to die when a work becomes only the execution of a fully formed idea. I therefore leave room for the material to resist, for the form to change, and for meaning to arrive later.
Philosophy follows the work. It does not lead it.
ARTIST STATEMENT
I do not begin with a philosophy to impose upon the work.
I begin with the wood and allow the work to lead me toward its meaning.
Philosophy does not precede the work or determine its path before it begins.
The work comes first: from the material, from the hand, and from the moment the form begins to emerge. Philosophy follows, attempting to read what has happened rather than control it.
Imagination begins to die when a work becomes only the execution of a fully formed idea. I therefore leave room for the material to resist, for the form to change, and for meaning to arrive later.
Philosophy follows the work. It does not lead it.
ECHO OF SILENCE
I do not use wood to illustrate a ready-made idea. I allow it to become part of the way meaning appears without ever being fully spoken.
Figures, animals, gestures, memory, poetry, and heritage emerge as fragments within the work. They suggest rather than explain, leaving the viewer space to complete the encounter through a personal reading.
Every work begins with a direct meeting between my hands and the wood. The piece develops slowly through carving, observation, and response to what the material reveals in its grain, fractures, resistance, and voids.
The closeness of the hand to the wood is not merely a method of execution; it is part of the work’s presence and meaning. Each piece therefore remains singular, carrying the marks of its tools and the character of its material, never reproduced as an identical copy.
I do not seek a form that conceals the wood, nor a work that settles for ornament. What matters to me is that each piece retains the honesty of its material, the trace of the hand that shaped it, and a meaning that remains open after the work is complete.
The work is not made to offer a single answer; it remains open because the human being cannot be contained within one meaning.
AT THE EDGE OF THE MIRAGE
The story did not begin with a brand, a studio, or a declared philosophy.
It began more than three decades ago, when I picked up a kitchen knife and carved a small piece of wood.
I was not setting out on an artistic path, nor did I know that I was standing at the first meeting in a relationship that would remain with me for many years, or that the small figure would become the earliest witness to what followed.
The carving came first.
Then came the questions.
And in time, Sarab arrived to give that relationship a name, a space, and a memory.
AT THE EDGE OF THE MIRAGE
The story did not begin with a brand, a studio, or a declared philosophy.
It began more than three decades ago, when I picked up a kitchen knife and carved a small piece of wood.
I was not setting out on an artistic path, nor did I know that I was standing at the first meeting in a relationship that would remain with me for many years, or that the small figure would become the earliest witness to what followed.
The carving came first.
Then came the questions.
And in time, Sarab arrived to give that relationship a name, a space, and a memory.
AT THE EDGE OF THE MIRAGE
The story did not begin with a brand, a studio, or a declared philosophy.
It began more than three decades ago, when I picked up a kitchen knife and carved a small piece of wood.
I was not setting out on an artistic path, nor did I know that I was standing at the first meeting in a relationship that would remain with me for many years, or that the small figure would become the earliest witness to what followed.
The carving came first.
Then came the questions.
And in time, Sarab arrived to give that relationship a name, a space, and a memory.