Produced using a laser cut stenciling method similar to screen printing, the raised surface of the tablets provides traces of information which, under varying light conditions, are revealed and concealed, lost and hidden. The text – a script from a Bahraini poem – wears down over different durations of time. As the tablets break into pieces, some quicker than others, the surrounding space is affected – the viewer becomes aware of the structure of his own place. The fundamental yet fragile connection between memory and territory is broken but not lost; rather, it is reinscribed in a new texture, an alternative narrative of belonging which reduces the relation between memory and territory to its fundamentals: a physical accumulation of sedimentary production, the material construction of a reconfigured space.

These pieces hold the lyrics to a song from Mohamed Yousef Al Jumairi, who himself uses the first two lines of Ali Abdulla Khalifa’s poem “Adhari”. The fragments tell the story of the spring and are meant to slowly disintegrate over time, the same way that the memories of this place are fading. I am interested in archaeology and especially in the methods of excavation and preservation. By making those sand tablets, I try to create a more contemporary version of that familiar way of recording information. I am also questioning the realities of these archaeological practices. If I wanted to make something that lasts, I would use clay or stone. I began working with sand when I was doing my MFA at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), and I had invited an archaeologist from Brown University to come visit my studio. I asked her what she would do if she found this at an excavation site? The first thing she said was that she would not touch it, which was the exact opposite of what I was doing. I was touching it all the time, even though I knew that by touching it I was actively destroying the work.

When I showed this work at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (MASS MoCA), I experimented with an archaeological display to create a fictional excavation site. For this exhibition I am trying to fit it within the context of a museum, where the display is extremely important. I visited the Louvre Abu Dhabi, studied and took notes of many armatures that were created very specifically for every single piece in order to replicate those techniques.

The Arabic language is an important part of this work. A lot of the cultural production that has been made in reference to this spring has a poetic meaning in Arabic. I write, for example, about the double meaning of Ain, which in Arabic can mean both “spring” and “eye”, with the eye significantly being a part of the body that produces water. This double meaning is very symbolic and metaphorical to me, the story of Ain Adhari and its waters being quite a sad story, that can produce tears. In his lyrics, Al Jumairi even pleads with the spring, asking it to not cry.

I came to the UAE in 2010 to study architecture at the American University of Sharjah. I never worked as an architect, but I think a lot of the work I make is the result of skills, ideas and concepts that I learned while studying it. Then, I moved to Abu Dhabi and I started working as an archivist and researcher for Lest We Forget, an initiative that runs an archive on Emirati history, documenting the life of the UAE through family photographs. I learned to document and record people's histories, especially in relation to places or objects. I was then selected to be a part of the Salama bint Hamdan Emerging Artists Fellowship program (SEAF), where I really began to explore my art practice more seriously.

I started using sand when I was studying glass at the Rhode Island School of Design. I began by making sand molds for glass casting, when I got so fascinated with the sand as a material in itself that I chose to use the mold making method as a means of producing the work. It was the perfect material to express what I wanted to say, to tell the story. Sand is complicated, its image is quite stereotypical in the region, referring to the desert, to heat and dryness. But it is a slight misrepresentation, even though more and more areas of land are turned into deserts. This project references the fact that the landscape is changing steadily towards desertification, especially in Bahrain, which used to be much greener.

It is hard to frame myself as the person who creates this work. My involvement is of one who is collecting and presenting a narrative, through the lens of the archaeologist, the archivist, the curator or the historian. As this project evolves it is always taking on new voices, and I hope that in the future I can incorporate the work of other artists and newer stories. I know for a fact that there are other artists from Bahrain who are interested in this place, and I think that the more work that is created around it, the longer Ain Adhari is going to live on, watering the channels in people’s memories.”

Interview with Nasser Alzayani, 3 November 2021, Abu Dhabi